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LITERAL. TRANSLATION 



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STOCK'S LUCIANj 



CONTAINING 



L Micyllus and his Cock. — IT. The Sale of Slaves. 

b Fisherman ; or, Philosophers I 

T. Prometheus; or, Caucasus, ai 

V, The Treatise- on History. 



III. The Fisherman ; or, Philosophers Revived* 
IV. Prometheus; or, Caucasus, and 



WITH A FEW USEFUL NOTES INTERSPERSEB. 



*^r* *^*++4 * r**^r*^*+*-* =» 



By DEB. HICKIE. 



DUBLIN: 

Printed by Brett Smithy 46, Mary-street, 
FOR P. BYRNE, BOOKSELLER AND STATIONER, 
20, ANGLESEY -STREET 

'Where the highest Price will be given for second-hand Classics) 

1818." 



•Western Ont. Univ. Library 



/VPR 3 



1940 




>^a£ 



yj 



^ ABVIMTISEMENT. 



<m » » »«» 



X he two former Translations of Stocks Lucian> 
as compiled from the publications of Francklin and 
Carr, having been for some time out of print, and 
not to be procured; and these besides being rather 
free, sometimes incorrect, and often omitting whole 
sentences together, the Editor thought it advisable 
to give the public a Translation altogether new, and 
that as literal as the idioms of the Greek and English, 
language would permit. 

The following sheets, therefore^, were composed 
with that view — to exhibit a Translation of Stock's. 
Lmcian, pretty closely corresponding with the original 
text, and yet such as not to appear entirely barbarous. 

It was originally his design, merely to have 
given a reprint of Vernon's Translation of the 
"Syngraphin," as it is commonly called; but 
that having been found, on a comparison with the 
original, not to deserve all the praises usually lavished 
on it, he was induced afterwards to alter his intention, 
and procure one, which, he hopes> will be more 
acceptable to the learner. 

In the course of the work, a few notes liave been 
occasionally added at the foot of the page, either 
to elucidate some particular passage, or to put the 
learner on his guard against the false interpretation 
of other Translations. 

26th September, 1818. * ' 



CONTENTS. 

L The Dream; or, Micyllus, and his Cocky .page 1 
II. The Sale,of Slaves, 24 

III. The Fisherman;, or,, the Philosophers Revived,, 40 

IV. Prometheus; or, Caucasus, . . . 67 
V« How History ought to be written, . . . 77 



DIALOGUES OF LUCIAN. 



OR, 

MICVLLUS AND HIS COCK. 



Micyllus. T?_iosT cursed Cock, may Jove himself 
crush you to pieces, as being so envious and clamo- 
rous, who setting up such a piercing and loud roar, 
have awakened me, enjoying myself in riches, engaged 
with the sweetest dream, and blessed with wonderful 
felicity ; so that I cannot at least by night fly poverty, 
a companion by far more impure, if possible, than 
yourself: and yet, if indeed it can be conjectured 
both from the silence, being still much prevalent, and 
from the cold not yet pinching me as it is accustomed 
in the morning (for this is to me the most infallible in- 
dex of approaching day) it is not yet midnight. But 
he vigilant, as if he were guarding the golden fleece, 
from evening till now sets up his roar ; it shall, how- 
ever, be no rejoicing matter, for I will instantly be 
revenged of you, as soon as it is day, pounding you 
to pieces with a stick ; for now you would only give me 
fruitless employment, springing up in the dark. — 
Cock. My good master, Micyllus, I thought to do you 
a favour anticipating as much of the night as I could, 
that rising before day you might have it in your power 
to finish the most of your work ; for if before the sun 
rises you could make one shoe, it would be so much 
labour done in advance towards your support. But 

A 



£ MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. 

if it be delightful to you to sleep, I will indeed be si- 
lent for you, and more mute than fishes. Take care 
however that you, rich in your dream, be not hungry 
when you awake. 

MicylL O wonder working Jove ! and Hercules, 
the warder off of mischief, what evil is this ? A cock 
has spoken like a man ! Cock. Does this seem to you 
a prodigy then, if I am endowed with a voice like you ? 
MicylL And why not a prodigy ? but O ye gods, 
avert the evil from us ! Cock. You seem to me, Mi- 
cyllus, to be altogether illiterate, nor to have read 
Homer's poems, in which Xanthus too, the horse of 
Achilles, having bid a long farewell to neighing, stood 
lap in the midst of the battle speaking, reciting whole 
verses, not as I do now, without metre, but he also 
prophesied, and foretold things to come ; nor did he 
seem to do any thing wonderful, nor did the audience 
like you, invoke the averter of evil, as deeming what 
they heard abominable. What would you do there- 
fore, if the prow* of the Argo spoke to you, as once 
the beech in Dodona, speaking by itself prophesied ? 
or if you saw hides creeping, and heard the flesh of 
the oxen lowing, half roasted and boiled, and trans- 
fixed on spits ? I truly, being the companion of Mer- 
cury, the most loquacious and eloquent of all the gods, 
and besides an inmate and familiar with you, might 
without difficulty have learned the human voice. But 
if you will promise me inviolable secrecy, I will not 
deem it irksome to tell you a truer reason of my hav- 
ing a voice like yours, and whence I have the faculty 
of thus speaking. 

MicylL But is not this a dream too, a cock thus 
discoursing with me? Tell me then by Mercury, ex- 
cellent bird, what else is the cause of your speech. 
But that 1 be silent and tell it to nobody, why need 
you fear ? for who would believe me, if 1 told to any 
person that I heard a cock telling these things ? — 

* Jf any translate this the heeli some the helm, seme the mast. 



MICYLLUS ASD HIS COCK. 6 

Cock. Hear then, I know very well that I tell you a 
most wonderful story, Micyllus; for he who now ap- 
pears to you a cock, was a man not long since, — 
MicylL 1 have formerly heard such a story indeed, 
about you, that a certain youth named Alectryon, was 
beloved by Mars, and drank with that god, and 
attended him in his revels, and was his confidant in 
his amours. Whenever Mars therefore went to Venus 
to commit adultery, that he also brought Alectryon 
with him, and because he suspected the Sun in parti- 
cular, lest looking down, he might reveal the affair to 
Vulcan, that he always left the young man without at 
the door, to tell him whenever the Sun might appear; 
then that Alectryon once fell asleep, and betrayed his 
trust without intention : but that the Sun secretly 
stood by Venus, and Mars lying at rest unconcerned, 
from a confidence that Alectryon, would tell him if 
any person approached ; and that Vulcan, being in- 
formed by the Sun, seized them, having surrounded 
and entrapped them in the chains which he formerly 
constructed for them : that Mars as soon as lie was 
dismissed, was enraged with Alectrvon, and trans- 
formed him into a bird, with the very same armour, 
so as to have a crest on his head in place of a helmet : 
that you for this reason, in order to excuse yourselves 
to Mars, when it avails you nothing, as soon as you 
perceive the Sun rising, sing out long before, to give 
notice of his rising. 

Cock. And they tell this story too, Micyllus; but 
mine was somewhat different ; and it is but very lately 
1 was metamorphosed for you into a cock. MicylL 
How! for I desire much to know it ? Cock. Have 
you heard then of the Samian Pythagoras, the son of 
Mnesarchus ? MicylL You mean that sophist, that 
proud sophist, who made a law forbidding us neither 
to taste flesh, nor to eat beans, and removing from 
our tables the sweetest food in the world ; and besides 
persuading men not to converse for five years. Cock. 
And surely you know this, that he was Euphorbus 

A 2 



A MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. 

before he was Pythagoras. MicylL They say that 
the fellow was an imposter, and a trick-munger. Cock. 
I am to you that very same Pythagoras ; therefore 
desist my good friend, reviling me, and that not know- 
ing how upright I was in my character. MicylL 
This is much more prodigious than the other story — 
a cock a philosopher ! Explain, however, O son of 
Mnesarchus, how you became a bird for us in place of 
a man, and a Tenagraean in place of a Samian.* Nor 
are these stories of yours probable, nor very easy to be 
credited, since I think 1 have already perceived two 
things in you very foreign from Pythagoras. Cock. 
What are they ? MicylL One, indeed, that you are 
talkative and clamorous ; but he, 1 think, ordered 
silence for five entire years: and the other, altogether 
contrary to his laws : for when I had nothing else to 
throw you, I went to you yesterday, having some 
beans, as you know, and you without scruple picked 
them up. Wherefore you must have either told a 
falsehood, and are somebody else, or being Pythago- 
ras, you have broken your own law, and have acted 
equally as impious in eating beans, as if you had de- 
voured the head of your father. 

Cock. You do not know then, Micyllus, what the 
cause of these things is, nor the things suited to each 
life. Then indeed I did not eat beans, for I acted 
the philosopher; but now I may eat them, for 1 a*m a 
cock, and that food is not forbidden us. But if it be 
pleasing to you, hear how from being Pythagoras I 
became what I am now, and in how many lives I 
lived, and what was the good and bad attendant on 
each change. MicylL Pray tell me; for the hear- 
in<y of it would be so extremely delightful to me, that 
if liny person should put it to my choice, whether I 
rather hear you relating such things, or see again that 
all- divine dream which 1 enjoyed a short time ago, I 

* Micyllus, the cobler, was of Tenagra, a City of Boeotia. So 
says the scholiast. But Lucian seems to call the Cock Tenagreean, 
because that city was famous for its breed of Cocks. See Plin. X. 2U 



MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. O 

do not know which I would chuse, so related I think 
your conversation is to my delightful visions ; and I 
hold both in equal honor, you and that most estimable 
dream. Cock. What! do you still call to mind that 
dream, whatever it was that was offered to your ima- 
gination, and retain some vain images of it ; pursuing 
in memory some empty, and, as in poetical language, 
some fleeting happiness. 

Micyll. But know, O Cock, I shall never forget 
that sight : the dream vanished, having left so much 
honey in my eyes, that I can scarcely open my eyelids 
from it, drawn back again into sleep. The things I 
have seen give me such titillation, as feathers cause 
turned about in the ear. Cock, By Hercules, you tell 
of wonderful love in a dream, if indeed being so fleet- 
ing, as you say, and having sleep the boundary of its 
flight, it passes over the line of demarkation, and 
tarries in your open eyes, shewing itself so full of 
honey 9 and manifestly. I desire, therefore, to hear 
what it is, that is so desirable to you. Micyll. \ 
am ready to tell you ; for it is sweet to remember it, 
and to relate something of it. But when will you, 
Pythagoras, give me an account of your transformati- 
ons ? Cock. When you, Micyllus, shall cease to 
dream, and wipe the honey from your eye brows. 
But first tell me, that 1 may understand, whether 
your dream came flying to you through the ivory gates 
or through those of horn, MicylL Through neither 
of these, Pythagoras. Cock. But Homer mentions 
only these two. Micyll. Bid adieu to that trifler of 
a poet, knowing nothing about dreams. Perhaps the 
dreams of the poor pass through them, such as he saw, 
and not very clearly, being himself blind. But this 
most sweet dream came to me through some golden 
gates, golden itself, and clad in gold, and bringing 
much gold with it. Cock. Desist, my good" Midas, 
to speak of gold : for doubtless your dream is like lus 
wish, and you seem to me to have dreamt of whole 
mines of gold, 

A3 



D MICYXLUS AND HIS COCK. 

MicylL Much, Pythagoras, much gold have I 
seen : how beautiful do you think? shining with what 
splendour! what then does Pindar say in its praise? 
(remind me if you know,) when saying that " water 
is the best thing," then admires gold, and justly, in 
the very beginning of the most beautiful of all his 
poems. Cock. Is it this you enquire after ? water 
indeed is the best thing ; but gold, like a blazing fire 
by night, shines far above the riches of the great. 
MicylL By Jove, the very same ; for Pindar thus 
praises gold as if he had seen my dream. But, most 
learned Cock, hear, that you may know what it was. 
You know I did not sup at home yesterday; for when 
the wealthv Eucrates had seen me in the market place, 
he invited me to come from the bath, at an appointed 
hour, to supper. 

Cock. I remember it well indeed, being hungry 
during the whole day, until you, returning home late 
in the evening, a little moistened with wine, brought 
me them five beans, no very sumptuous supper for a 
cock, who w T as once a wrestler, and vied not without 
glory in the Olympic games. MicylL But when 
having returned from supper I gave you the beans, I 
went immediately to rest ; then, according to Homer, 
in ambrosial night, a certain divine dream, like rea- 
lity, standing near me. Cock. But first of all tell me, 
Micyllus, what happened at the house of Eucrates, what 
kind the supper was, and the whole management of 
the feast. For nothing hinders you from supping 
again, exhibiting some part of that supper, as if in a 
dream, and bringing back your food in memory, as if 
chewing the cud. 

MicylL I thought T would be troublesome to 
you, if] told these too; but since you desire it, I will 
tell you — when never before in all my life 1 supped at 
a rich man's table, O Pythagoras, yesterday by some 
good luck I happened to light on Eucrates. And 
when I had saluted him, my Lord, as 1 used, I was 
vrcmw off, that I should not shame him, following him 



MICYLLUS ANI> HIS COCK. 7 

in a ragged garb ; but he says, Micyllus, I celebrate 
to-day the birth-day feasts of my daughter, and have 
invited many friends; but since they say that a certain 
one of those, being indisposed, cannot sup with us, 
come you in his place after bathing, unless he who is 
invited should promise to come; for yet indeed it is 
doubtful. Having heard these words, and made my 
obeisance to him, 1 departed, offering vows to all the 
gods, that they would send to that sickly man a fever 
or pleurasy, or the gout, as whose substitute and vice- 
gerent at the feast and successor i was invited ; and 
all that time till the hour of bathing, I considered 
longer than an age, often looking how many feet the 
shadow was, and when 1 ought to bathe, And when 
at length the hour arrived, speedily taking to my feet 
I depart, dressed pretty decently, thus turning my 
coat, that the best side might appear outermost. 

1 find at the gate, with many other persons, him 
also, in whose place 1 should have supped, carried in 
a litter by four men, — him, who was said to be sick ; 
and it was manifest that he was ill, for he sighed deeply 
and coughed, and reached with something inwardly, 
and unattainable, being all w T an and bloated, and 
about sixty years of age. He was said to be some 
philosopher, one of those who blab out their trifles to 
young men. His beard indeed was goatish, exceed- 
ingly wanting a barber. Archibius, the physician, 
chiding him that he came in this condition. It does 
not become one, says he, to neglect his duty, especi- 
ally a philosopher, though six hundred diseases should 
oppose him ; for Eucrates might have thought that he 
was slighted by me. Not at all, said I, he will praise 
you, if you chuse rather to die at home in your own 
house, than here at a feast to cough out your soul with 
your phlegm. And he, indeed, through greatness of 
soul, pretended not to hear this. -A little after came 
Eucrates from bathing, and having seen Thesmopolis, 
(for that was the name of the philosopher) you have 
done right ; master ; says he ; in coming personally to 



8 MJCYLLUS AND MIS COCK. 

us ; you \f ould however have fared never the worse, 
for every thing would have been sent to you in turn. 
Saying this, he at the same time went in, giving his 
hands to Thesmopolis, about to lean on his slaves and 
depart. 

1 therefore was preparing to go off; but-he turning 
about, when he hesitated for a long time, and after 
he had seen me very melancholy, come you also, 
Micyllus, says he, and sup with us ; for I will order 
my son to banquet with his mother in the woman's 
apartment, that you may have room. I therefore 
entered, little differing from a wolf gaping in vain for 
his prey; but blushing that 1 seemed to have driven 
the little son of Eucrates from the feast. When the 
time of sitting down came, at first, five lusty young 
men, not without some difficulty lifting Thesmopolis, 
settled him in his place, placing pillows under him 
on all sides, that he might remain in that posture, and 
could continue so long. When no persori,£hen could 
bear to sit near him, they bring and set; me lolling 
too, that we might be at the same table: then we 
supped, O Pythagoras, partaking of an abundant and 
various supper out of much gold and much silver. 
The cups were golden, the servants handsome, and 
sung well, and were facetious; in short, the conver- 
sation was most delightful. One thing however an- 
noyed me in no small degree, Thesmopolis disturbing 
my mirth, telling me of something called Virtue, and 
teaching that two negatives made an affirmative, and 
that if it were day, it was not night : sometimes also he 
said I had horns; and blabbed forth many such things 
in an uninterrupted harrangue, teaching me philoso- 
phy, which 1 did not require, and thus interrupted 
my mirth, not suffering me to attend to either the 
harpers or singers. Such, O Cock, was our supper. 
Cock. Not the pleasantest, Micyllus, and especially 
since you happened to be placed with that doating 
old fellow. 



MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. V 

MicylL Now hear my dream too : — I thought 
that Eucrates himself, being without children, was, 
by some chance, about dying; that having called me 
then, and made his will, in which I was heir of all, 
and, surviving a short time, died. But that I, having 
entered upon the possessions, drew gold and silver 
from certain large vessels, flowing incessantly and in 
abundance; and that all the rest his garments, tables, 
cups, servants, were all mine, as was fit. Then I 
was carried, stretched at my ease, in a white chariot, 
admired and envied by all that saw me. Many ran 
before, and rode round me. and more followed. But 
I, having his garments, and his weighty rings, about 
sixteen in number, fitted on my fingers,* ordered a 
certain sumptuous banquet to be prepared for the 
entertainment of my friends. They, however, as is 
probable enough in a dream, came immediately; and 
now the supper was ended, t and drinking commenced. 
Being in this situation, and as I was drinking friend- 
ship to every one present in golden goblets, and while 
the sweetmeats were bringing in, yon, squalling un- 
seasonably, disturbed our banquet for us, overturned 
our tables, and so dissipated those riches, that you 
gave them to be carried away by the winds. Do I 
seem then to be angry with you -without cause, as I 
would willingly see that dream that befel me, still for 
three continual nights? 

Cock. Are you such a lover of gold and of riches, 
Micyllus, and do you admire these alone of all 
things, and think it a blessing to possess much gold ? 
MicylL I am not the only person, Pythagoras, that 
did this; but you yourself too, when you were Eu- 
phorbus, having tied gold and silver in your curls, 
went thus to fight against the Greeks, and that k* 

* Carr renders this, li With a number of monstrous rings, quite 
sufficient for sixteen fingers." — He adds, *' eight rings on the fingeifc 
were not uncommon.' * 

f See note in Stock. 



10 * MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. 

battle, where it was better to carry iron than gold. 
You, I say, chose then to face danger, having your 
locks b/aided with gold. And Komre, for this rea- 
son, I think, says your hair was like the Graces, be- 
cause it was bound with gold and silver; for, to be 
sure, it appeared better and more lovely being braided 
with gold, and shining with it. And this, O golden- 
haired is moderate in you, if, being the son of Pan- 
theus, you valued gold: Jupiter, the father of all 
the gods and men, the son of Saturn, and Rhea, 
when once enamoured of that maid of Argos, and 
having nothing more lovely into wlfich he could 
change himself, nor wherewith he might bribe the 
guards of her father Acrisius, (you have at some 
time heard it,) becoming gold, and so showering thro' 
the tiles, enjoyed his beloved. Why should I further 
tell you after that, how many uses gold affords? and 
how it renders those beautiful, and wise, and brave, 
with whom it is present, procuring them honor and 
glory ? and how sometimes in a short time it makes 
people conspicuous and famous from being obscure 
and inglorious? 

You know my neighbour then, and fellow trades- 
man, Simon, who supped with me not long since, 
when at the Saturnalia, 1 boiled pottage, throwing 
in two cuts of sausage. Cock. 1 know that flat- 
nosed, short fellow, who stole our little earthen 
pitcher, the only one we had, and hiding it under 
his arm, went off after supper; for I myself have 
seen it, Micyllus. Micyll. It was he then that 
stole it, and perjured himself by so many gods! 
But why did you not then inform and scream out, 
O Cock, when you saw us robbed ? Cock. I crowed, 
which alone was possible for me then to do. — But 
what then of Simon ? for you seemed to say something 
of him. MicylL He had a very rich cousin, named 
Drimylus. He, while living, never gave an obolus 
to Simon, and how could he, who could not in his 
heart touch his riches himself. But when he died 



MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. 1 1 

lately, Simon being heir at law enjoyed it all ; he 
with ragged cloaths, he who licked the dish, is noz& 
carried joyfully on horseback, clad in purple and 
violet coloured robes, having servants, and chariots, 
and golden cups, and tables with ivory feet ; adored 
by all and looking no longer on me. For I seeing 
him lately passing along, I said, Hail, Simon! but he, 
indignant, said, tell that beggar not to clip my name, 
for 1 am not called Simon, but Simonides. But the 
greatest point is, that all the women are in love with 
him, and he acts effeminately also towards them, and 
despises them ; some indeed he admits to his favours, 
and is propitious ; but others, who are neglected, 
threaten to procure their own death. You see of 
what good things gold is the cause, since it even 
reforms the deformed, and, like the poetical Cestus 
of Venus, renders them amiable. You hear the poets 
also saying— " O Gold, thou fortunate boon, thou 
most beautiful possession:" and, " For 'tis Gold 
which has power over mortals." — But why, in the 
meantime, do you laugh, O Cock ? 

Cack. Because through ignorance, you also, Micyl- 
lus, like the rest of the vulgar, are deceived concerning 
rich&i. But they, y6u know well, spend a more miser- 
able life than you do. This 1 tell you for truth, who 
have often been both poor and rich, and had made 
trial of both kinds of life: you yourself too shall 
shortly know each particular. MicyfL Therefore, 
by Jove, it is time now that you teli how you had 
been changed, and the things you know in each life. 
Cock. Hear: know this first, that 1 never saw any 
person happier than you. MicylK Than 1 am, 
O Cock! may such happiness befal you! for you 
irritate me to wish you ill. But tell me, beginning 
with Euphorbus, how you were changed into Pytha- 
goras; and thence till you were changed into a cock: 
for it is likely that you have seen and suffered various 
things in lives so different. 



12 MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. 

Cock. How my soul originally flying down from 
Apollo on earth, entered the body of man, to suffer 
a certain punishment, would be tedious to relate; 
besides it is not lawful either for me to tell, nor for 
you to hear, such things. But when 1 became Eu- 

phorbus Micyll But pray, wonderful Sir, tell me 

first who was I, before I was the person I now am; 
whether I also have been transformed like you ? 
Cock. Certainly. Micyll. Who then was I, if you 
can by any means tell me? for I desire to know it. 
Cock. You were an Indian Pismire,* of that kind 
which dig up gold. MicylL Have I then neglected, 
wretched as I am, to bring a small share of the scrap- 
ings into this life, taken as a viaticum from that life? 
But tell me also what will I be hereafter; for it is 
probable that you know. If it be any thing good, 
I will rise immediately and hang myself from the 
perch on which you stand. Cock. You cannot know 
this by any means. 

But when I was Euphorbus (for I return to that) 
I fought at Troy, and being slain by Menelaus, after 
some time, I went into Pythagoras, but so long con- 
tinued without an habitation, till Mnesarchus built a 
mansion for me. MicylL Pray, friend, were you 
without meat and drink? Cock. Certainly: for none 
wants them but the body alone. MicylL There- 
fore, first tell me the things that happened at Troy : 
were they such as Homer relates them to have been ? 
Cock. How could he know them, who, while they 
were happening, was a camel in Bactria ? But this 
much I tell you, nothing was supernatural then, nor 
was Ajax so large, nor Helen so beautiful, as people 
believe: for I have seen a certain woman with a 
white long neck, so that one would imagine her to be 
the daughter of a swan, but very old, almost equalling 

* Those Indian pismires, or emmets, according to Herodotus, are 
about the size of a middling dog. They differ also from other pis- 
mire % in throwing up hills of gold. 



MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. IS 

the age of Hecuba. Theseus having carried her off 
first, °had her at Aphidnae, who lived in the age of 
Hercules ; and Hercules took Troy first, in the time 
of our ancestors, then very powerful.* For my father 
Pantheus told me these things, saying that Hercules 
had been seen by him, when he was very young. 
MicylL But, prythee, was Achilles such as he is said 
to be, most excellent in every respect : or is this also 
a fable? Cock. I was never connected with him, 
Micyllus ; nor can 1 so accurately relate to you the 
things that happened with the Greeks. For how 
could I know them, being an enemy? I, however, 
killed his friend Patroclus without difficulty, having 
transpierced him with my spear. MicylL Then 
Menelaus slew you with much less difficulty. But 
enough of these things. Now tell the things relating 
to Pythagoras. 

Cock. Upon the whole, + Micyllus, T was a sophist, 
(for 1 think it becomes me to tell the truth,) otherwise 
not illiterate, nor unexercised in the most excellent 
disciplines. I travelled into Egypt, that 1 might 
confer with the prophets concerning wisdom. And 
entering the shrines, I learned the books of Orus and 
Isis ; and sailing back again into Italy, I so instructed 
the Greeks of that country,^ that they considered me 
a god. MicylL I have heard these things, and 
besides, that you were believed to revive after death, 
and sometimes showed them a golden thigh. But 
tell me this, what came into your head to make the 
law against eating flesh and beans? Cock. Do not 
ask me such questions, Micyllus. MicylL Why so, 
Cock ? Cock. Because I am ashamed to tell you the 
truth about them; MicylL But you ought not hesi- 
tate telling it to an inmate and friend, for I no longer 

* Leedes renders this u Then at their best, or in the prune of their 
youth" 

f To tell all in few words. 

i Some falsely render it H The Greeks of that age.'* 

B 






14 MICYXLUS AND HIS COCK, 

call myself your master. Cock. Nothing sound or 
wise was in it ; but seeing that, if I enacted common 
laws, and such as are taught by the vulgar, 1 would 
not allure mankind into an admiration of me; and the 
more foreign I made them, the more singular, I 
thought, 1 would appear to them : 1 therefore de- 
termined to make innovations, feigning a secret cause, 
that, several persons making various conjectures, all 
would be struck with amazement, as in the obscurities 
of oracles. Micyll. Do you see? you also laugh at 
me in turn, as well as at the Crotonians and JYieta- 
pontians and Tarentines, and the others who followed 
you in silence, and adored the tracks which you left 
after you walking. 

But having put off Pythagoras, whom did you put 
on after him? Cock. Aspasia, the Milesian courte- 
zan. Micyll. Wonderful language ! Pythagoras be- 
come woman too, among other changes ? Was there 
not a time too, when you, most generous cock, laid 
eggs, and were free with Pericles, being Aspasia ? and 
you became pregnant by him, and carded wool, and 
spun the thread, and became woman for the exercise 
of whoredom ? Cock. 1 did all this indeed; but was 
not the only person that did so! for Tiresias did it 
before me, and Cseneus the son of Elatus : wherefore, 
whatever reproaches you cast on me, you will cast the 
same on them. Micyll. What then ? which life was 
more pleasant to you, when you were a man, or when 
Pericles had communication with you ? Cock. Do 
you see what you ask, an answer which was not expe- 
dient for Tiresias ? Micyll. Rut though you will not 
tell it, Euripides has sufficiently decided the point, 
when he said, that he would rather stand thrice under 
a shield, than bear a child once. Cock. And certainly 
I remind you, that in no short time you will bear the 
pangs of labour.* For you also will at one time or 

* Carr, after Boss, translates it thus : « I will put you in mind •/ 
this conversation by and by, when you are in childbed" 



MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. 15 

other be a woman, and that often, in that various 
round of transformations. Mcijll. Should you not 
go he hanged, O Cock, you who think us all Mile- 
sians or San ians ?* They say, therefore, that when 
you were Pythagoras of beautiful form, you were an 
Aspasia to the tyrant Polycrates. 

But what man after Aspasia, or woman did you 
again appear to be? Cock. The Cynic Crates.—* 
Micyll, O sons of Jove! what disparity, a philoso- 
pher from a harlot ! Cock, Then a king, then a 
pauper, and a little after a satrap ; then a horse and a 
jack-daw, and a frog, and six hundred other beings ; 
it would be tedious to recount each : but lastly, a cock, 
and that often ; for 1 am delighted in that life particu- 
larly. And after having served many others, kings 
and paupers, and rich persons, at last I live with you, 
deriding you daily complaining and bewailing your 
poverty, and admiring the rich, through ignorance of 
the evils attendant on them. For if you knew the 
cares which they have, you would laugh at yourself, 
having before imagined that the rich person is always 
over happy. Micyll. Therefore, Pythagoras, or 
whatever else you like best to be called, that 1 may 
not confuse the discourse, calling you a different per- 
son at different times. — Cock. It will signify nothing, 
whether you call me Euphorbus, or Pythagoras, or 
Aspasia, or Crates; for I am all these. But if you 
call me, a cock, that which I now seem to be, you 
will do best, that you may not despise a bird as seem- 
ing to be contemptible, especially having so many souls 
in it. 

Micyll. Therefore, O Cock, since you have ex- 
perienced almost every kind of life, and have known 
all, tell me now plainly and separately, the particu- 
lar manner in which the rich, and the particular man- 

* " You think you can persuade me to believe any thing you say, be 
it ever so improbable, as, when you were Pythagoras, you did the 
Samians and Milesians." 

Franklin. 

B2 



16 MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. 

ner in which the poor live, that I may know if you 
tell these things true, showing me to be more happy 
than the rich. Cock. Lo ! then, Micyllus, consider 
the matter thus ; your concern about war is not much, 
if it be said that ihe enemies are approaching, riorare 
you troubled, lest making an incursion, they would 
pillage your land or trample down your garden, or 
destroy your vines ; but as soon as you hear the trum- 
pet only, if however you hear it, you look round to 
provide a place for yourself, when turning you may be 
saved and escape the danger. On the other hand these 
are both uneasy for themselves, and tortured in mind, 
when they behold from the walls, all that property 
plundered and carried away, which they possess in 
the fields ; and if tribute must be paid, they only are 
called upon ; if an attack is to be made, they are first 
in danger, leading the foot or commanding the horse: 
but you carrying a wicker shield, disencumbered and 
light to provide for your safety, prepared to partake of 
the triumphal feast, whenever the commander sacri- 
fices after having obtained the victory. 

Again in peace, you being one of the common peo- 
ple, going up into the assembly, domineer over the 
rich ; but they tremble and dread you 5 and pacify you 
with donations ; for they labour that you may have 
baths, and sports, and exhibitions, and all other 
things in abundance. You, however, a censor and 
bitter judge, like a lord, sometimes deign not to speak 
to them ; and when you think proper, shower down 
abundance of stones on them, or confiscate their ef- 
fects. You dread neither the calumniator, nor the 
robber, lest he take away your gold, by climbing over 
the enclosure of your house^ or undermining your 
walls ; and you have no trouble in keeping accounts, 
or recovering debts, or contending with dishonest 
stewards, nor are you distracted with so many cares. 
But as soon as you have finished one shoe, having the 
wages of seven oboli, rising from your work late in 
the evening, and bathe if you choose, then having 



MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. 



17 



purchased some sprats, or herrings, or a few heads of 
onions, exhilarate yourself, singing for the most part, 
and philosophizing with excellent poverty. 

Wherefore on this account you are well in health, 
and strong in body, and able to bear the cold; for 
labours sharpen you, and make you no contemptible 
adversary against those things which seem invincible 
to others. Wherefore none of those difficult diseases 
lay wait for you ; but if at any time a slight fever 
should invade you, you yourself prescribing for it* 
for a short time, you rise up immediately, having 
shaken it off by abstinence; it flies instantly, dreading 
you, when it sees you drink cold zoater^ and bidding 
the visits of the doctors bewail a long time.t But 
what evils have they not, miserable through intempe- 
rance ? gouts, consumptions, inflamations of the lungs, 
and dropsies — for all these are the offspring of their 
sumptuous suppers. Some of them, therefore, like 
Icarus, whilst they raise themselves too much and ap- 
proach the Sun, ignorant that their wings are stuck 
together with wax, sometimes make a great noise, 
falling on their head into the sea; but they, who. like 
Daedalus, do not aim at things too sublime and lofty, 
but things humble and near the earth, so that the wax 
is sometimes sprinkled with the marine spraj/^ gene- 
rally fly along in safety. MicylL You speak of the 
moderate and prudent. Cock. And in the mean time, 
Micyllus, you see the very shameful shipw r recks c*f the 
others; when Croesus, with plucked wings, having 
ascended the pile, affords laughter to the Persians ; 
or Dionysius, deprived of his tyranny, teaches letters 
at Corinth, and after such a great empire, teaches chil- 
dren to join syllables. 

* Erasmus and Hemsterhuis translate this, " ad exlguum tempu$ 
Uli obsecatus " Franklin, who is not very scrupulous in adhering to 
the text, omits it altogether. 

f Carr omits this clause, and Franklin misconstrues it ; " setting 
the doctors prescriptions at defiance. 3 ' 

B3 



K 



18 MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. 

MicylL Tell me, O Cock, when you were king 
(for you say that you also ruled,) what kind did you 
experience that life to be ? Certainly you were extremely 
happy then, since you enjoyed that which was the 
summit of all felicity. Lock". Do not, Micyllus, recal 
all my evils to my recollection, so thrice unhappy 
was 1 then : ] seemed indeed to be extremely happy 
in all external things, as you have said, but within I 
was distracted with innumerable miseries. MicylL 
With what miseries? for you mention things absurd, 
and not very credible. Cock. I ruled indeed no small 
kingdom, Micyllus, most fertile, and very much to 
be admired for its multitude of inhabitants and the 
beauty of its cities: and besides, watered with navi- 
gable rivers, and enjoying many sea ports.* Besides 
a large army, cavalry well disciplined, no small body 
of guards, three-oared galleys, and a countless quantity 
of money, and hollow gold (golden vessels) in abun- 
dance, and every other equipage of state, accumula- 
ted without end. When, therefore, 1 went abroad, 
the common people adored me, and thought they 
beheld some god, and numbers upon numbers crowded 
together to see me. Some also climbing upon the tops 
of houses, thought it a great matter if they could see 
-my chariot, my robe, my diadem, those who went 
before me and those who followed. But I, conscious 
within myself how many troubles tortured and turned 
me, forgave their ignorance and pitied myself, who 
was like those huge Colossus' which Phidias or Myro, 
or Praxiteles made; for each of them has outside 
either a Neptune, or a beautiful Jupiter, wrought of 
gold and ivory, holding a thunderbolt, or lightning, 
or a trident, in the right hand : but if stooping and 
putting in your head, you view the inside, you will 
see certain bars and wedges, and nails driven through 
the interior, and pieces of wood, and pins, and pitch, 

* Using a sea, which formed excellent harbours— forming mmj 

ports. 



MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. 19 

and clay, and much deformity of this kind dwelling 
within. I omit mentioning the multitude of mice or 
weazels, building themselves cities within. Such a 
thing is a kingdom. 

Micyll. You have not yet explained to me what 
are the clay and the wedges and the bars of your king- 
dom, nor what that great deformity is. For to be 
solely looked on with admiration as you were carried 
about, to rule so many, and to be adored like a deity, 
so far agrees with the example of the Colossus ; for 
this also is something divine. But now explain the 
inside of this Colossus. Cock. What shall 1 first tell 
you, Micyllus ? the fears, the corroding cares, the 
suspicions, and the hatred of those who live with one, 
the plots, antl the little sleep on account of them, and 
that not profound, and dreams full of confusion, and 
perplexed thoughts, and expectations always evil ; or 
the want of leisure, and the occupations, and judg- 
ments, and expeditions, and edicts, and confedera- 
cies, and consultations : whence it happens, that not 
even in sleep, indeed, one can enjoy any pleasure, but 
alone must look out for the safety of all, and have an 
innumerable employment on his hands. — For sweet 
sleep did not possess Agamemnon, the son of Atreus, 
revolving many cares in his breast — and that while all 
the Greeks were snoring. A dumb son made the 
Lydian Crcesus miserable. Clearchus made the Per- 
sian Artaxerxes miserable, levying foreign soldiers for 
Cyrus; and Dion, concerting measures with some 
Syracusians, vexes another, namely p , Dionysius, — 
Parmenio being praised, is grievous to Alexander ; 
Ptolemy troubles Perdiccas, and Seleucus plagues 
Ptolemy. Moreover these things are the cause of grief ; 
one beloved unwillingly cohabiting, a concubine fond 
of another person, some of the allies reported to be 
about revolting, and two or three of the life-guards 
whispering with one another. But the greatest misery 
of all is, that the greatest friends must be suspected, 
and to expect always some evil to come from them. 



20 MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. 

For one Icing indeed is killed with poison by his son, 
and that son himself by the person he loved:* and 
some similar kind of death perhaps carries off another. 

MicylL Away with it — all you say is dreadful, 
O Cock. It is, therefore, by far safer for me with in- 
clined body to cut the hide, than from a golden goblet 
to quaff' the cup of friendship mixed with hemlock and 
wolfsbane. I have the danger, indeed, to fear if the 
knife slips, and turns from the direct incision, of 
blooding my finger a little in cutting. But they, as 
you say, feast on deadly suppersJkhd that attended 
with innumerable evils; then when they fall, they 
seem to be like tragic performers, .many of whom are 
to be seen, being, to wit, Cecrops's or Sisyphus's or 
Telephus's, having diadems, and ivory-hilted swords^ 
and streaming hair, and a gold embroidered robe : but 
if any of them (many such things happen) should fall 
stumbling in the midst of the stage, he certainly 
affords laughter to the spectators ; his mask being 
broken together with his diadem, the head of the actor 
being also blooded, and his legs in a great measure 
stript, so that the interior part of his dress appears, 
being wretched rags, and the deformity of the liga- 
ments of his buskins, which are by no means to the 
shape of his feet. Do you see how you have taught 
me also most excellent cock, to make similies? such, 
indeed, majesty seemed to you to be; but when you 
were a horse, or a dog, or a fish, or a frog, how did 
you bear that kind of life ? 

Cock. You move a long discourse, and one not 
necessary at the present time. However, this is the 
summary — there were none whatsoever of these lives 
that did not seem to me more tranquil than the human 
life^ as they are circumscribed with natural desires and 
necessities. Among them you do not see a horse a 
tax-gatherer, or a frog an informer, or a jack-daw a 

* Carr's translation is unpardonable : he gives this sentence &31- 
execrable turn, not to be inferred frem the original, 



MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. 21 

sophist, or a gnat, a cook, or a cock, a pathic, or the 
which ye study to be. 

MieylL These things are true perhaps, O Cock. 
But how I am affected, I do not blush to tell in your 
presence. I could never yet unlearn that desire of 
becoming rich, which I had from my childhood : even 
now that dream stands before my eyes, shewing me the 
gold ; and above all, 1 am vexed at that cursed Simon, 
who lives sumptuously amidst so much riches. Cock. 
I will cure you, Micyllus; and when it is night, rise 
and follow me; for I will bring you to that very Simon, 
and into the houses of other rich persons, that you may 
see what their condition is. MieylL How can you 
do this, their gates being shut, unless perchance, you 
force me to dig through the walls ? Cock. Not at all : 
but Mercury, whose sacred bird I am, granted me 
this special privilege, that if any person should take 
the longest feather of my tail, which is bent with soft- 
ness. — MieylL But you have two alike. Cock. 
If therefore I suffer any person to take the right-hand 
one, he, as long as I please, can open every gate, and 
see all things, unseen himself MieylL I did not 
know that you, O Cock, were a conjurer. If then you 
but once give this feather, you will see all Simon's 
property transferred here in a short time : for going 
there, 1 will bring them hither : but he again shall bite 
old shoes, cleaning off the filth. Cock. It is not law- 
ful for this to happen ; for Mercury commanded me, 
if he who has the feather should do any such thing, 
that I should cause, that he be detected by my crow- 
ing. MieylL What you say is not likely — Mercury 
himself a thief, to envy thievery in others. Let us go, 
however, for I will refrain from the gold if I can. 
Cock. First pluck the feather, Micyllus. — What's 
this ? you have plucked both. MieylL It is safer 
so, O Cock, and you will be less disfigured, that you 
may not halt in one side of your tail. 

Cock. Let it be so : do we go first to Simon, or to 
some other rich person? MieylL No truly, but to 



22 



MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. 



Simon, who having become rich, requires to be of 
four syllables now, in place of two syllables. And 
certainly we are at his gate : what shall I do after this ? 
Cock. Apply the feather to the lock. Micyll. There 
it is for you. O Hercules, the gate is opened as if with 
a key. Cock. Go further on. Do you see him wide 
awake, and making up his accounts ? Micyll. I see 
him by Jove, by the little dim and thirsty lamp. He 
is, I know not how, all pale, O Cock, and entirely 
dried up, wasted, I suppose, with cares; for he is not 
said to be ever otherwise indisposed. Cock. Hear 
what he says, for thus you will understand how he is. 
Simon. The seventy talents therefore are safely buried 
under my bed, and nobody has seen them ; but I think 
the groom, Sosylus, saw me hide the sixteen talents 
under the manger : for he is now always busy about 
the stable, who never before had any care of it, nor 
was fond of labour. But it is most likely, that much 
more than these have been plundered from me; for 
how could Tibius have otherwise feasted on such a 
relish yesterday ? He is said also to have purchased 
an ear-ring for his wife at five drachms. They entirely 
lavish in luxury the property of unhappy me. But 
neither are my numerous cups laid by in safety*: I 
therefore fear, lest some robber, digging through the 
wall, should take them away. Many envy and lie in 
wait for me, and especially my neighbour Micyllus. 
Micyll. Surely, by Jove, I am like yourself forsooth, 
and go away having the little earthen vessels under my 
arm. Cock. Hush, Micyllus, lest he discover that 
we are here. Sim. It will therefore be best, to keep 
myself without sleep : rising, I will go round all the 
house. Who's here? But I see you, an underminer 
of the walls, by Jove! Since it is a pillar, all's well. 
I will again count my dug up gold, but some, per- 
chance, has lately escaped me. Hark again, some 
person has made a noise near me : 1 am forsooth beset, 
and secretly attacked by all: where is my dagger? 
If I but catch any one — let's bury our gold again* 



MICYLLUS AND HIS COCK. 23 

Cock. Such indeed, Micyllus, is Simon's condition 
for you .Let us go to some other person, whilst a 
little of the night remains yet. MicylL Oh, wretch ! 
what a life he leads! may it happen to my enemies to 
be so rich! Having buffeted him, therefore, on the 
jaw, I will depart. Sim. Who struck me ? 1 am 
robbed, wretch that I am ! MicylL Weep and watch, 
and grow like your gold, as to its colour, pining over 
it. — But if you think fit, let us go see the usurer 
Gnipho : he* too does not live far off. — This door is 
open to us. 

Cock. Do you see him, also waking with cares, 
counting his "usury, and withered in his fingers, who 
must, not long ! enee, having left all these, be changed 
into a moth, a gnat, or a fly. MicylL 1 see the 
wretched and silly man, living even now, indeed, not 
jLbetter than a moth or a gnat. But how he also is 
entirely consumed with computation ! Let us go to 
another. 

Cock. To your friend E iterates, if you think pro- 
per: and lo! this door also is open. Let us enter 
therefore. MicylL All these were mine a little time 
ago. Cock. Do you still dream of riches ? Do you 
see Eucrates himself, [ * * * ] that old 

man ? MicylL I see, by Jove, [ * * * * 
* *] and his wife also in another corner with the 
cook. • 

Cock. What then ? do you wish, Micyllus, to be 
master of these also, and to possess all the wealth of 
I Eucrates? MicylL Not at all, O Cock! may 1 
■+-rather die with hunger than suffer any such misery. 
Farewell gold and supper ! Let two oboli be my 
only riches, rather than that my walls should be un- 
dermined by slaves. Cock. But now (for the day is 
already breaking) let us depart homeward. You will 
see the rest, Micyllus, at another time. 



THE 



SALE OF SLAVES.* 



JUPITER, MERCURY, 8$C. 

Jupiter. JL?o you, Mercury, arrange the benches, 
and prepare the place for those that are arriving ; hav- 
ing brought forward the slaves, place them in order : 
but first adorn them, that they may seem handsome, 
and entice many bidders. But you, Mercury, make 
proclamation, and bid, with good luck, the purchasers 
to be present in the market-place. We sell, by a 
cryer, philosophic slaves of all kinds and of different 
sects. But if any person cannot count down ready 
money, on giving security, he may pay it next year. 
Merc, Many are come together, therefore we must 
not delay, nor are they to be detained. Jup. Let us 
sell therefore. 

Merc. Whom do you wish I should first produce? 
J up. This long-haired Ionian, for he seems to be 
some august personage* Merc. You, Fythagorian, 
come down, and hold yourself near to be viewed by 
the company. Jup. Now make proclamation. 
Merc. 1 sell a most excellent slave, most respectable, 
who will buy him ?• who wishes to be more than 
man ? who to know the harmony of the universe, 
and to revive a second time? Buyer. As to his 



* This is generally translated the (i Auction, or sale of lives, but 
incorrectly. 



THE SALE OF SLAVES. 25 

appearance, indeed he is not ignoble. Bat what does 
he chiefly know? Merc. Arithmetic, astronomy, 
prognostics, geometry, music, juggling You be- 
hold a great prophet. Buyer. Is it permitted to 
question him ? Merc. Interrogate him : with good 
luck. 

Buyer. What countryman are you? Pyth. A 
Samian. Buyer. Where were you educated ? Pyth, 
In Egypt, among the wise men there. Buyer. Come 
then, if 1 buy you, what will you teach me ? Pyth. 
I will, indeed, teach you nothing, but 1 will put you 
in mind. Buyer. How will you put me in mind ? 
Pyth. First, by purging your soul, and washing off 
the filth that is on it. Buyer. But supposing that I 
am already purged, what are the means of putting 
me in mind? Pyth. At first, indeed, long rest and 
silence, and to speak nothing for five entire years. 
Buyer, it is for you, excellent sir, to instruct the son 
of Chrcesus: as for my part, I am talkative, and do 
not desire to be a statue. But what, however, after 
silence and five years ? Pyth. You will be exercised 
in music and geometry. Buyer. You speak agree- 
ably, if I must first become a harper, and after that a 
sophist. 

Pyth. Then after these you will learn to count. 
Buyer. I know already to count Pyth How do 
you count ? Buyer. One — two —three — four. Pyth. 
Do you see, these which you think four, are ten 3 and 
a perfect equilateral triangle, and our oath ?* Buyer* 
Then by this greatest oath, the number four, I never 
heard conversations more divine or holy. Pyth. But 
afterwards, stranger, you will learn concernino- the 
earth, and water, and fire, what their natural action 
is, and of what form they are, and how they are 

* The number ten, placed in the following manner, makes a* 
equilateral triangle : * See Stanley's History of Philosophy, p. 58 1, 

* * # 

* If * * 



26 THE SALE OF SLAVES. 

moved Buyer. Has fire, therefore, and air, and 
water, a shape ? Pyth. And a very manifest one : 
for they cannot be moved without form and figure. 
By these you will understand that God is number and 
harmony. Buyer. You tell wonderful things. 

PyLh. Besides the things already said, you shall 
know, that you yourself, seeming an individual, 
appear to be one, but art another. Buyer. What 
say you ? that I am another person, not the 
same that speak to you now? Pyth. Now indeed 
you are the person, but formerly you appeared 
in another body, and under another name; and 
again, in process of time, you will pass into another 
person. Buyer. Do you mean this, that 1 will be 
immortal, to be changed into different forms. — But 
enough of these things. 

As to your living, what sort of person are you ? 
Pyth, 1 eat no animal food; but every thing else 
except beans. Buyer. Why do you dislike beans ? 
Pyth. I do not : but they are sacred, and their nature 
is marvellous. In the first place, the whole is genera- 
tive, and if you shell a green bean, you will see it, 
in shape, like the virile members; but, if boiled, you 
expose them for a certain number of nights to the 
moon, you will make blood. But what is more, it is 
a law with the Athenians to choose their Magistrates 
by a ballot of beans. Buyer. You have spoken all 
nobly and divinely. But strip, for I wish to see you 
naked too, — O Hercules, lie has a golden thigh ; he 
seems some god and not a mortal; wherefore I must 
by all means buy him. How much do you cry him 
at. Merc At ten mi use. Buyer. I have him, (He 
is mine) taking him at such price. Jup. Write down 
the name and country of the buyer. Merc, He seems, 
O Jupiter, to be an Italian, one of those who dwell 
near Crotona, and Tarentum, and Greece therea- 
bouts. However it is not one, but about three 
hundred that have purchased him, to have him in 
common. Jup. Let them take him away— let us 
bring forward another. 



THE SALE OF SLAVES. 27 

Merc. Will you have that filthy fellow, him from 
Pontus ? Jup. Certainly. Merc. Here, you with 
the wallet hanging at your back, with round shoul- 
der; come, and go round the bench in order. I sell 
a manly slave ; an excellent and generous slave, and 
a slave that is free. Who will buy him ? Buyer. 
What say you, cryer : do you sell a free man ? Merc. 
I do. Buyer. Do you not fear then, lest he accuse 
you of kidnapping, or that he summon you into the 
Areopagus ? Merc. He is not concerned for being 
sold ; for he supposes himself to be free every where. 
Buyer. But what use can be made of him, being 
filthy and so unhappily affected, unless one would 
make him a digger or a water-carrier ? Mere* Not 
this only, but if you station him to act as porter at 
your gate, you will experience him more faithful than 
dogs : and certainly his name too is Dog. Buyer. 
What countryman is he, and what institution does 
he possess ? Merc. Ask himself, for it is best to do 
&o. Buyer. I fear his surly and downcast counte* 
nance, lest he bark at me approaching him, or per- 
haps, bite me. Do you not see how he raises his stick, 
and knits his eye-brows, and looks somewhat threat- 
ening and angry ? Merc. Fear not, for he is tame. 

Buyer. First, good Sir, of what country are you ? 
Diog. Of every country. Buyer. What do you say? 
Diog. You see a citizen of the world. Buyer. 
Whom do you follow ? Diog. Hercules. Buyer. 
Why, therefore, have you not around you the lion's 
skin? for as to the club you are like him. Diog. 
This threadbare coat is my lion's skin. But I wage 
war, like him, against pleasures, not commanded, 
but of my own accord, proposing to myself to purge 
the world. Buyer. 1 commend your design. But 
what shall we say you know particularly, or what art 
have you ? Diog. I am the deliverer of mankind, 
and the physician of the passions ; on the whole, I 
desire to be the prophet of truth and liberty of speech, 



C:>/- St/**- 



28 THE SALE OF SLAVES. 

Buyer. Come, Mr, Prop het, if I buy you, m 
what manner will you teach me ? Diog. At first, 
indeed, having received you, and stripped you of your 
luxury, 1 will confine you with poverty, and throw 
an old coat round you. Then 1 will oblige you to 
work and labour, sleeping on the ground, drinking 
water, and to be filled with whatever food comes in 
your way. But, advised by me, you must take and 
throw your riches, if you have any, into the sea. You 
w 7 ill be regardless of marriage, and of children, and 
of country; and will consider all things trifles ; and 
having left your father's house, you will inhabit either 
a sepulchre or an old deserted tower, or even a tub. 
Your wallet shall be filled with lupines,* and books 
written on the, back. Having yourself thus equipped, 
you will consider yourself more happy than the great 
king + But if any person whip or torture you, you 
will deem none of these troublesome. Buyer. What 
say you, will I not grieve being whipped ? for I am 
not surrounded with the shell of a crab or a tortoise. 
JDicg. You will imitate" that saying of Euripides, 
having changed it a little. Buyer. What saying ? 
IJiog. Your mind will giieve, but your tongue will 
be griefless ! 

These are chiefly what you ought to be — you must 
be impudent and audacious, and abuse every body in 
order, both kings and private persons alike : for so 
they will gaze on you, and think you manly. And 
your voice will be barbarous, and a discordant sound, 
and entirely like a dog's: your countenance screwed 
up, your gait becoming such a countenance; and in 
short, you will be all savage and rustic. But let 
modesty, and gentleness, and moderation, be absent ; 
and altogether shave every blush from your face. 
Frequent the most public places, and desire to be in 



* See Juvenal, Sat. I. ver. 6. 

f This was the appellation of the King of Persia. See Aristoph. 
Plut. 170. 

4 $ee the Hippolitus of Euripides, ver. 112. 



THE SALE OF SLAVES. 29 

them alone, and without company, admitting neither 
friend nor stranger: tor these things would brin^des- 
truction to your government. Do courageously tn the 
faces of all, what another person would not do in 
private ; and practice the most ridiculous venery. At 
length, if you please, having devoured a raw polypus* 
or cuttle fish, die. Such is the happiness we would set 
before you. 

Buyer. Away! you speak of impurity and things 
abhorrent to humanity. Diog* But hark, friend, 
they are most easy, and such as any person could, 
without difficulty, practice. Nor will you have need 
of education, and speeches, and trifles : but these are 
a short way for you to glory. For though you be 
ignorant, a cobler, a seller of salt fish, a smith, or 
money-lender, nothing will prevent you from being 
admirable, provided you have impudence and auda- 
city, and learn to abuse well. Buyer. To acquire 
these, 1 do not, indeed, want you : but perhaps you 
may, with advantage, be made a sailor or a cabbage 
planter, and that, if he will sell you for these tw r o 
oboli at most. Merc. Take him, for we are glad to 
be rid of him, who is so troublesome to us, and roars 
so, and insults and detracts every body. 

J up. Call another, that Cyrensean,t him in pur- 
ple, and crowned. Merc. Come then, attend ye all: 
this is a precious article, and requires a rich purchaser. 
This is a sweet slave, a thrice happy slave. Who is 
desirous of pleasure ? who bays this most delicate 
philosopher? Buyer. Come hither and tell what 
you happen to know ; for I will buy you if you be 
useful. Merc. Do not disturb him, good Sir, nor 
interrogate him, for he is inebriated, so that he cannot 
answer you, his tongue faltering as you see. Buyer. 
And who in his senses, would buy so corrupt and 
wicked a slave ? Of what perfumes he smells ! with 

* Alluding to the death of Democvitus. 
t Aristippus, a disciple of Socrates, 



30 



THE SALE OF SLAVES. 



what a slippery and wavering gait he moves. In the 
mean time, do you, Mercury, tell what properties 
are in him, and what profession he happens to pur- 
sue. Merc. In short he is a dexterous boon compa- 
nion, and adapted for drinking, and fit to practice 
lascivious dances with a piper, a lover, and some 
abandoned lord. Besides, he is skilled in cooking 
sweet-meats, and very knowing in dainties, and 
altogether a master in luxury. He was brought up 
at Athens, and served under the tyrants of Sicily, and 
was in high esteem with them. But the whole of his 
philosophy consists in despising all things, enjoying 
all things, and searching for pleasure every where. 
Buyer. It is time now for you to look out for another 
purchaser among the rich and mon'red persona : 1 am 
not adapted for buying a merry slave. Merc. He, 
Jupiter, does not seem saleable, and will remain with 
us, J up Set him aside. 

Bring forward another : and particularly those two, 
the laugher, * from Abdera, and the weeper, + from 
Ephesus, for 1 will sell both together. Merc. Come 
down into the middle : 1 sell most excellent slaves; 
I publish for sale two the most wise of all. Buyer. 
O Jove ! what difference. One does not cease to 
laugh, and the other seems to lament somebody ; for 
he incessantly weeps. Hark you, what's this ? why 
do you laugh? Dem, Do you ask ? all your affairs 
and yourselves seem ridiculous to me. Buyer. What 
say you ? you laugh at us all : do you consider all our 
affairs as nothing? De?n. So it is: for there is 
nothing serious in them : all are vain, and an impulse 
of atoms, and undefineable.jj: Buyer. By no means : 
but how truly vain are you, and unskilled ! O inso- 
lence ! will you not cease laughing ? 

But you, good Sir, why do you weep ? for I think 
it far better to accost you. Her. I wcep ) stranger* 



* Demccrltus. f Heraclitus, 

$ See note in Stock on this word. 



THE SALE OF SLATES. Si 

because I think the affairs of men lamentable and 
deplorable, and that there is none of them exempt 
from fate. On this account, then, I pity them and 
weep: and indeed the present I do not consider great, 
but deem those things wretched which are to happen 
at a future time — I mean the burnings and the cala- 
mity of the universe. These things I deplore, and 
because nothing is durable, but all things are rolled 
into a certain confusion ; and because delight and 
dislike are the same; knowledge and ignorance: great 
and small; dancing up and down, and changing 
places in the childhood of life. Buyer. And what is 
life? Her. A child playing, throwing the dice, 
roving up and down. Buyer. And what are men ? 
Her. Mortal gods. Buyer And what are gods ? Her. 
Immortal men. Buyer. Do you talk riddles, friend, 
or compose griphi?* For like the Loxian Apollo, 
you plainly say nothing clear. Her. 1 care nothing 
about you. Buyer. Nobody therefore in his senses 
will purchase you. Her. 1 bid you all go wail, great 
and small, buyers and not buyers. Buyer. This dis- 
order is not far from madness, 1 will not indeed pur- 
chase either of them. Merc. Nor can these be sold. 
J up Proclaim another. 

Merc. Will you have that prating Athenian ? 
J up. Certainly. Merc. Come hither, Sir. We 
proclaim a good and prudent slave. Who buys a 
most holy personage? Buyer. Tell me what you 
may know in particular. Socr. Iain a lover [* * *] 
and learned in love affairs. Buyer. How then could 
1 purchase you : for I wanted a pedagogue for a 
beautiful youth which I have. Socr. And who can 
be a more fit companion for a handsome youth : for 
I am not a lover of their bodies ; 1 admire a beautiful 
soul. Certainly if they spent the night with me, 



* The Griphi were not very different from our riddles and conun- 
drums, though they required, perhaps, a little more learning to 
unravel tberj& See Atkenceus. Cook X. 



32 THE SALE OF SLATES. 

under the same covering, you would hear them saying 
that they suffered nothing abominable from me. 
Buyer. You speak incredible things, being a lover 
£ # * * ] and seeking nothing curiously beyond 
the soul: and that, when it is in your power, lying 
under the same covering. 

Socr. But 1 swear to you by the dog* and the 
plane-tree, that these things are so. Buyer O Her- 
cules, the absurdity of these gods ! Socr. What say 
you ? Does not the dog seem to you to be a god ? 
Do you not see how great Anubisisin Kgypt ? and 
Sirius in heaven ? and Cerberus with those below ? 
Buyer. You say right; but i was mistaken. 

But in what manner do you live ? Socr. 1 inhabit 
a certain city which 1 have formed for my*elf : I use a 
new republic, and enact my own laws. Buyer. I 
would wish to hear one of your laws. Socr. Then 
hear the greatest, which 1 was pleased to make con- 
cerning women. 1 was pleased to enact that none of 
them should be the property of any one person, but 
to participate in the marriage of every person desiring 
her. Buy< r. What say you ? are the laws concerning 
adultery to be annulled ? Socr. Certainly, by Jove; 
and simply all that trifling diligence about such things. 
Buyer. But what is your pleasure concerning Boys 
flourishing in youth ? Socr. These shall be the re- 
ward of the bravest [ * * * J having atchieved 
some splendid and distinguished action. Buyer. 
Amazing munificence ! 

But what is the chief point of your wisdom ? Socr. 
IdeajB and examples of things existing, For whatever 
you see, the earth, and all things on the earth, the 
heavens, the sea, certain invisible images of all these, 
exist beyond the universe. Buyer. Where do they 
exist? Socr. No where : for if they were any where, 
they would not be. Buyer. I do not see those exarn- 



* Cerberus. This is called the oath of Rhadamanthus, who coal" 
asanded his subjects to swear on every trivial occasion. 



THE SALE OF SLAVES. 33 

pies which you mention. Socr. No wonder, for you 
are blind in your mind's eye. But I see the images 
of all, and you invisible, and myself a different per- 
son, and all things entirely double. Buyer. There- 
fore you are to be purchased, being so wise, and sharp- 
sighted. Come, Mercury, let me see what you re- 
quire of me for him. Merc. Give me two talents. 
Buyer. I bought him for what you say : but 1 will 
count down the silver to-morrow. Merc. What then 
is your name? Buyer. Dion of Syracuse. Merc. 
Come, take him, with good luck. 

Now 1 call you, Epicurian, Who will buy him ? 
He is indeed a disciple of that laughing philosopher^ 
and of that toper whom we have just sold by procla- 
mation. But he knows one thing more than they, as 
far as he is more profane. As to other matters lie is a 
sweet felloxo, and is a lover of good living. Buyer. 
How much is his price ? Merc. Two minee. Buyer. 
Here they are for you : but let me know one thing; 
what fooci does he delight in ? Merc. He lives on 
sweet and honied food, and particularly on figs. 
Buyer. There is no difficulty in this matter, for I will 
buy him some frails of Carian %s. 

J up. Call another: him shorn to the skin, him 
from the porch, (the Stoic*). Merc. You advise 
right : for many of those who have come to the market- 
place, seem to expect him. I sell virtue itself, the 
most perfect slave. Who alone wishes to know 
every thing? Buyer. What is that you say? 
Merc. That he alone is wise, he alone is beautiful, 
he alone is just, manly, a king, a rhetorician, a rich 
man, a law-giver, and every thing else whatever itlbe. 
Buyer. Therefore, good Sir, he alone is a cook also, 
and, by Jove, a cobler, and a carpenter, and the 
like. Merc. It seems so. 

Buyer. Come hither, good Sir, and tell me, about 
to purchase you, what kind of person you are ; and 

• ChrysippUs.- 



w 

34 THE SALE OF SLAVES. 

first, if you do not take it amiss to be sold, and to be 
a slave ? Chrys. Not at all : for these things are not in 
our power ; and whatever is not in our power, happens 
to be indifferent to us. Buyer. I do not understand 
what you say. Chrys. What say you ? you do not 
understand that some of these things are to be pre- 
ferred, and some again to be rejected ? Buyer. Nei- 
ther do I understand it now. Chrys. No wonder; 
for you are not accustomed to our terms, nor have you 
a comprehensive imagination. But the studious per- 
son, who has learned the theory of logic, not only 
knows these terms, but also the accidents and super- 
accidents, and how r , and in what they differ. Buyer. 
By philosophy, do not envy to tell me this, what are 
these accidents and super-accidents ? for 1 do not 
know how I am struck with the number of those 
terms. Chrys. 1 do not envy you this; for if any 
person, being lame, has received a wound, suddenly 
striking that very lame foot against a stone, he cer- 
tainly has had his lameness an accident, and received 
his wound as a super-accident. 

Buyer. Wonderful acuteness! But what else do 
you say you know? Chrys. The mazes of speech, 
with which I entangle and bind those that converse 
with me ; and 1 silence them, simply throwing a bridle 
on them. The name of what I effect this with is the 
celebrated Syllogism. Buyer. By Hercules, you 
mention a certain invincible and forcible argument. 
Chrys. Look you then, have you a child? Buyer. 
What of that ? Chrys. If by chance a corcodile* 



* The sophism called Corcodile took its rise, they say, from the 
following story :- — A gipsey walking on the banks of the Nile, had 
the misfortune to have her little boy laid hold of by a Corcodile. 
She begged and prayed him to let the child go, till at last the Cor- 
codile promised, that if she gave him a true answer to a question, 
she should have her boy again. The question he asked her was, 
H Will I restore your son to you or not ?" By this the poor woman 
was reduced to a great dilemma, since the truth of her answer de- 
pended altogether on the will of the Corcodile. 



THE SALE OF SLAVES. 35 

should seize him, walking near the river, and then 
promise to restore him to you, if you should truly tell 
him what he determined concerning the restoration of 
the child, what will you say he has resolved upon ? 
Buyer. You ask what is difficult to be answered : 
for I hesitate what to say that I may recover him. 
But do you, in the name of Jove, preserve my child 
by your answer, lest the Corcodile devour him, before 
I can answer. Chrys Have courage, for I will teach 
you other things too, more wonderfiil. Buyer. What ? 
Chrys. The syllogism called the Reaper, and the 
Ruler, and above all, the Eiectra, and the Hidden. 
Buyer. Who is the Hidden, an 1 this Electra you 
mention ? Chrys. That illustrious Electra, the 
daughter of Agamemnon, who at the same time, 
knew the same tiling and did not know it. For while 
Orestes was standing by her yet unknown, she knew 
that Orestes was her brother, but did not know that 
he vas Orestes But you shall immediately hear the 
hidden and very wonderful speech : for, answer me, 
do you know your own father? Buyer, Certainly. 
C/rys. What then, should I place near you any per- 
son in a mask, and ask you, do you know him ? what 
would you say ? B."yer, Doubtless, that I do not 
know him. Chrys But, indeed, that every person was 
your father, wherefore, if you did not know him, it is 
manifest that you did not know your father. Buyer. 
Not at all : unmask him, and I will know the truth. 

But pray what is the end of your wisdom, or what 
are you to do when you shall arrive at the height of 
virtue? Chrys. I will be conversant with these things 
which are first in nature; 1 mean riches, health, and 
the like. But it is necessary to labour much before- 
hand, to apply the eyes closely to manuscript books, 
to compile commentaries, and to be filled with sole- 
cisi nd absuid sentences; in short, it is not lawful 
for ypu to become wise, unless you drink hellebore 
three times in due order. Buyt r. These are really 
generous and manly studies. But to be a sordid 



36 THE SALE OF SLAVES. 

Gnipho* and a usurer, (for I see these are in you, 
shall we say that these are the property of a ma 
purged with hellebore, and perfect in virtue. Chryt* 
Certainly : to practice usury becomes a wise man alone 
Since it is his property to collect ; + and to act tli 
usurer, and compute interest, seem a-kin to the art oi 
collecting; this also, as well as the other, is the part 
of a studious man ; and not only to take simple inter- 
est like others, but also other interest of that interest. 
For are you ignorant, that of interest there are some 
certain firsts, and some seconds, as if the offspring of 
them (of the first interest) ?■ See, therefore, what the 
syllogism says — If he will receive the first interest, 
he will (iho receive the second ; but he will certainly 
receive the first. Ergo, he will receive the second also. 

Buyer. Therefore we may say the same concerning 
the rewards, which you receive from the youths on 
account of your wisdom ; and 'tis manifest that the 
good man alone will receive a reward on account of 
virtue. Chrys. You understand it : for 'tis not on 
my own account I receive it, but for the sake of the 
giver himself; for since one is a lavisher, and another 
a receiver, 1 study to be a receiver, and for my disci- 
ple to be a Ltvisher. Buyer. You have certainly said 
the contrary ; that the youth was the receiver, and you 
who alone are wise, are the lavisher. Chrys. You 
deride me, good sir ; but see that 1 do not shoot you 
with an indefinite syllogism. Buyer. And what evil 
fa to be feared from that weapon? Chrys. Doubt, 
and silence, and the distraction of the mind. 

Bat what is greatest, if I wish, I will instantly 
make you a stone. Buyer. How a stone? For, good 
sir, you do not seem to me to be Perseus. Chrys. 

* Gnipho, in the foregoing Dialogue, is used as the name of a cer- 
tain miser. Here it is to be taken generally as an appellation for ail 
misers. 

f To make syllogisms. — The pun, or play upon the word here, 
tan only be perceived in the original. Punning or playing on words 
©an seldom or never be translated. 



THE SALE OF SLAVES. 3T 

Thus : is a stone a body ? Buyer. Yes. Chrys. 
What then, is not an animal a body ? Buyer. Yes. 
Chrys. Are you an animal ? Buyer. I think so, in- 
deed. Chrys. Ergo, you are a stone being a body. 
Buyer. Not at all; but liberate me, 1 pray you by 
Jove, and make me a man again. Chrys. It is not 
difficult : be then a man once more. Tell me, is every 
body an animal ? Buyer. No. Chrys. What, is a 
stone an animal ? Buyer. No. Chrys. But are you 
a body? Buyer. Yes. Chrys. Being a body then 
are you an animal ? Buyer. Yes. Chrys. Therefore 
you are not a stone being an animal. Buyer. You 
have done well, since already my legs, like those of 
Niobe, were chilled and stony. But I will, however, 
buy you. How much, Mercury ', shall I lay down 
for him ? Mere. Twelve minae. Buyer. Take them. 
Merc. Do you alone buy him? Buyer. No, by 
Jove ; but all tho?e whom you see. Merc. They are 
many indeed, and strong as to their shoulders, and 
fit for the discourse called the Reaper. 

J up. Don't lose time : call another. Merc. I name 
you Peripatetic,* the handsome, the rich. Come 
then, purchase the most wise philosopher, him under- 
standing every thing in the universe. Buyer. What 
kind is he ? Merc. Moderate, just, fit for the world, 
and what is best of all, he is double. Buyer. What 
say you ? Merc. Appearing one person outwardly, 
he seems to be another inwardly. Wherefore, if vou 
purchase him, remember that you are to call this in- 
ternal, that external. Buyer. What in particular 
does he profess ? Merc. That good things are three, 
in the soul, in the body, in external things. Buyer. 
He knows human affairs. But what is his price. 
Merc. Twenty minae. Buyer. You name a great 
price. Merc. No, good sir, for he himself also seems 
to have some money ; wherefore you cannot avoid buy- 
ing him : besides you will very speedily know front 

* Aristotle. 

^ D 



38 THE SALE OF SLAVES. 

him, how long a gnat lives, to what depth the sea li 
rendered pellucid by the sun, and what sort is the 
soul of oysters. Buyer. O Hercules ! what accurate 
investigation. Merc. But what if you heard many 
other instances more accurate than these, concerning 
seed, and generation, and the formation of embryos 
in the womb ? and that man is a risible animal, but 
that an ass is neither risible, nor fit for building or 
sailing ? Buyer. You name precepts both respectable 
and useful : wherefore I will purchase him for twenty. 
Merc. Let it be so. Who besides is left us ? — 
This sceptic. Come hither you Pyrrhias,* and be 
proclaimed instantly. Now, indeed, many are going 
off, and the sale will be to few bidders. However, 
who will buy him ? Buyer. I will : but tell me first, 
therefore, what you know. Pyr. Nothing. Buyer. 
What do you mean by that? Pyr. That nothing 
altogether seems to me to exist. Buyer. Are we 
therefore nothings. Pyr. I do not know that either. 
Buyer. Nor that you yourself are- something? Pyr* 
I am still much more ignorant of that Buyer. O, 
excessive doubt ! But what means these scales ? Pyr. 
I ponder arguments in them, and correct them into 
equality ; and when I see them perfectly alike and of 
equal weight, then indeed 1 do not know which is the 
truer side of the question. Buyer. But of other 
matters, what can you do correctly? Pyr. All, ex- 
cept pursuing a fugitive. Buyer. Why is that im- 
possible to you ? Pyr. Because, good sir, I cannot 
apprehend. t Buyer. No wonder; for you seem to 
be a certain slow and sluggish fellow. But what is 
the end of your knowledge? Pyr. Ignorance, and 
neither to hear nor see. Buyer. You say therefore that 
you are both deaf and blind together. Pyr. And 
moreover, without judgment, and void of sense, and 

* Diogenes Lsertius calls him Pyrrho. 

•j- It will readily be apprehended, that the wit of this passage is 
merely a pun arising from a technical term* See note in Stock. 



THE SALE OF SLAVES. 39 

altogether differing in nothing from a reptile. Buyer, 
You are to be bought on that account. How much 
ought we say him to be worth? Merc. Ait Attic 
Miua. Buyer. Take it. What say you, sir, have 
I bought you ? Pyr. It is uncertain. Buyer. Not 
at all ; for I have purchased you and laid down the 
money. Pyr. 1 suspend my judgment about that, 
and consider it. Buyer. However, follow me as you 
should, being my slave. Pyr. "W ho knows whether 
you say these things true. Buyer. The Auctioneer 
and the Mina, and the people present. Pyr. Are 
any present with us? Buyer. But I, having in- 
stantly cast you into the workhouse, will make you 
know that I am your master with an argument a 
deteriori. Pyr. 1 suspend my judgment about that. 
Buyer. But, by Jove, 1 have now shown my deter- 
mination. Merc. Desist opposing, and follow your 
purchaser. — But, gentlemen, we invite you to-mor- 
row, for we are about to proclaim for sale, private 
persons, and mechanics, and people of the market- 
place.* 



* Suidas explains the Greek word by Homines qui inforo versan* 
tur, emendi aiit vendendi causa. Benedict renders it viles. 



D2 



®fce ffiiffbttm&n; 



OB, THE 



PHILOSOPHERS REVIVED. 



Socrates. I elt, pelt the cursed wretch with 
abundance of stones ; shower on him with clods, 
shower on him still with pot-sherds — beat the villain 
with your sticks; see that he does not escape. And 
you, Plato, pelt him ; and you, Chrysippus ; and 

you Let us all rush on him in aJ)ody, that 

wallet may aid wallet, and stick sticks ; for he is 
our common enemy, and there is none of us that he 
has not affronted. But do you, Diogenes, use your 
stick, if you ever did it before, and do not spare it : 
lethim suffer worthy punishment, as being a calum- 
niator. What's this ? are you wearied Epicuru3 
and Aristippus ? certainly it did not become you. 
Be wise and remember impetuous wrath. 

Aristotle ! make greater haste. It's well: the beast 
is taken. We have caught you, polluted wretch, you 
shall therefore speedily know who we are that you 
abused. But in what manner shall we treat him ? 
Let us invent various deaths for him, which can'satisfy 
us all; he deserves to die seven times for each of us. 
JPhilos. Reviv. at once. It seems to me that he should 
be impaled, but tirst scourged, by Jove.* Another. 

* Franklin seems to have very well divided the Dialogue here: — 
Plato. Let him be crucified. Socr, JSut first, by Jove, I will hav§ 
feim whipped. 



PHILOSOPHERS REVIVED. 41 

Let his eyes be dug out. Another. But let his tongue 
first of all be cut out. Socr. What seems it to you 
Empedocles ? Emp To cast him into the craters of 
ojie-ry mountain, that he may learn not to abuse his 
betters. Plat. It would certainly be best, that like 
some Pentheus or Orpheus, he should find a torn fate 
on rocks, that each of us having a part of him might 
go off with it. 

JLucian. O no ! but spare me, by Jove, the protec- 
tor of suppliants. Socr. It is decreed: you cannot 
again be let off; but you see what Homer says, that 
treaties with lions and men are not faithful. Luc. 
However, I will beseech you out of Homer : you 
will, perchance, revere his verses, and not despise me 
reciting them. — Spare a man that is not evil, and re- 
ceive a worthy ransom, both brass and gold ; for the 
wise love these.** Plat. Neither will an Homeric 
answer for you be wanting to us : hear then — Do not, 
slanderer, meditate flight from me in your mind, 
having counted down your gold, since you have come 
into our hands. Luc. Woe is me! Homer, our 
greatest hope has abandoned us. I must then fly to 
Euripides; he, perhaps, will preserve me — Slay not 
* the suppliant, it is not lawful to kill him. Plat. But 
what ? are not these words too from Euripides ; shall 
not those that do 'evil things suffer evil things ? Luc. 
Now, therefore, do you kill me, for w r ords ? Plat. 
Certainly, by Jove, for the very "same Euripides 
says, misfortune 'is the end of an unbridled moiuh 
and impious pride. 

Luc. Therefore, since you are entirely determined 
to kill me, arrd it is not possible for me to escape by 
any stratagem, come, tell me this, who you are, or 
what incurable injury having suffered from me, you 
are enraged with me beyond cure, and have seized me 
' for death. Plat. Ask* yourself, villain, what injurk-s 

* The £re last words of this distich are not in Homer. 

D3 



42 the fisherman; or, the 

you have done us ; and those excellent writings of 
yours, in which you have spoken disrespectfully of 
Philosophy itself, and reviled us ; proclaiming for 
sale, as if in the market place, wise men, and what 
is a greater crime, free men. Indignant for these 
things, and having obtained a furlow for a short time 
from Pluto, we have ascended hither against you, 
this Chrisippus here, and Epicurus, and i Plato, and 
Aristotle himself, and this silent Pythagoras, and 
JJiogenes, and all, as many as you have torn in your 
writings. 

Luc. ] have got breath again — nor will yon kill 
me if you learn how I behaved towards you : where- 
fore cast away the stones, or rather preserve them, 
for you can use them against those that deserve them. 
PlaL You trifle with us, for you must certainly die 
to-day; and now you are to have a stone coat on 
account of all the evils you have done. Luc. But, 
most excellent sirs, if you kill me, having undertaken 
so many labours for you, know well that you will 
Hill the only person you should praise, being your 
familiar friend, and benevolent to you, and of the 
same sentiments: and, if it be not disagreeable to say 
it, the guardian of your studies. See therefore, that 
you do not act like the Fhilosphers now a- days, and 
seem thankless, angry, and unmindful of obligations 
to a man that deserved well of you. Plat. O impu- 
dence ! and do we owe you thanks for your slander ? 
does he so verily think that he is treating with slaves; 
or does he also account such abuse and petulance of 
words against us as an obligation. 

Luc. Where, therefore, or when have I abused 
you ? i who lived always admiring philosophy, and 
extolling you, and conversant in the books which you 
left after you. How otherwise could 1 shew to men 
those tilings which 1 say, than by taking them from 
you, and like bees tasting your flowers? but they 
praise, and recognize the flower of each, whence and 
from whom, ana how I collected it; they commend 



PHILOSOPHERS REVIVED. 43 

me in speech for this collection of flowers, but in rea- 
lity you, and that meadow of yours, who produce 
such various and many coloured flowers, if any per- 
son knew to collect, and to bind, and to arrange 
harmoniously, so that they do not disagree one from 
the other. Is there any person then, having deserved 
such good things from you, that would dare to speak 
badly of men, his benefactors, from whom he has 
whereby he appears to be something great ; unless he 
be of the same disposition with Thamyris, or Eurytus, 
to sing against those very muses, from whom he re- 
ceived the art of singing ; or to contend with Apollo, 
daring to aim a dart against the very teacher of 
archery. 

Plat. This indeed, generous soul, you have spoken 
after the manner of rhetoricians: it is entirely con- 
trary to the thing itself, and proves your audacity 
more importunate, since even ingratitude adds to 
your injury ; who having received weapons from us as 
you acknowledge, you have shot them at us, propos- 
ing to yourself this object only, to speak badly of us 
all. This is the reward w f e have received from you 
in return for opening our meadow to you, and not 
hindering you from mowing, and departing, having 
filled your bosom. Wherefore, even on account of 
this particularly, you were deserving of death. 

Observe, you listen to anger, and admit nothing 
just. I never thought, indeed, that the anger of 
Plato, or Chrysippus, or Aristotle, or of any others 
of you should come to pass ; but you alone seemed 
to me to be remote from such weakness. But, how- 
ever, O admirable adversaries^ you will not kill me 
uncondemned, nor without standing my trial : for 
even this was your charaeier^ not to act by violence, 
and according to the strength of each, but to deter- 
mine differences by justice, having given and heard 
evidence on both sides of the question. Wherefore, 
having fixed on a judge, accuse me, either all together 
or whomsoever you shall chuse by your votes to speak 



44 the fisherman; or, the 

for all : but I will answer to your accusations. If 
then it appears that I have done you an injury, and 
the trial shall determine that concerning me, I will 
certainly withstand the just punishment, and you will 
attempt nothing violent. But if, after holding the 
disquisition, I shall be found for you pure irrepre- 
hensible, the judges will absolve me; but you will 
turn your resentment against those who deceived you 
and stirred you up against me. 

Plat. This would be turning the horse loose into a 
field,* that having deceived the judges you might 
escape : for they say you are a rhetorician, and a 
pleader, and a wily disputant. But what judge do 
you wish to be appointed, whom you would not in- 
duce, being corrupted with bribes, (you do many 
such unlawful things) to pass sentence in your fa- 
vour? Luc. Be confident, with regard to that: I 
wish for no such suspected or partial judge, nor one 
who would sell me his opinion ; for, behold, 1 make 
Philosophy herself as a judge, together with you. 
Plat. And who shall accuse you if we be judges? 
Luc. Do you yourselves both accuse and judge. Nor 
do I fear this in the least; so much 1 overbear in- 
justice, and trust to plead my cause with fluency. 

Plat. What are we doing Pythagoras and So- 
crates ; for the man seems to challenge us not without 
reason, in deigning to be judged. Socr. What else, 
than to go to the tribunal, and having taken Philoso- 
phy with us, hear what he has to say for himself; 
for it is not otir character to condemn before trial, 
but it is downright vulgar, and the part of certain 
angry men, and of those placing justice in violence. t 
For we will give an opportunity to those who wish to 
detract us, by stoning a man not having spoken for 
himself, and that, we who say we rejoice in justice. 

* A proverbial expression — Turn the horse loose, and catch him 
ftgain if you can. See Erasmus. 

f So we use the word imxnu in Latin. 



PHILOSOPHERS REVIVED. 45 

What otherwise could we say of Anytus and Melitus, 
my accusers, or of my then judges, if he should die, 
not at all partaking of the water.* Plat. You advise 
right, Socrates. Wherefore let us go to Philosophy ; 
for she will judge, and we will abide by her decision. 

Luc. Well said, most wise men : these things are 
better and more legal. But preserve the stones as I 
said, for shortly after you will want them at the tribu- 
nal. But where shall one find Philosophy? for I do 
not know where she dwells, though I wandered about 
a long time, seeking her habitation, that I might be 
acquainted with her. Then having met with some 
persons clad in cloaks, and letting down long beards, 
who said they came from her, 1 enquired, thinking 
they knew. But they, who were much more ignorant 
than myself, either answered me nothing at all, lest 
they should be convicted not knowing, or shewed me 
one door in place of another. Wherefore even to 
this very day 1 could not rind her habitation. 

Very often indeed, by my own conjectures, or some 
other person conducting me, 1 came to some doors, 
firmly hoping that 1 would then find her ; suspecting 
so from the multitude of those coming and going, all 
sour-looking, grave in their habits, and thoughtful in 
their visage ; secretly mixing, therefore, with these I 
also entered. Then i beheld a woman in no manner 
simple, though she settled herself so as to appear most 
unadorned and negligent ; but presently she appeared 
to me, neither to have left the pretended negligence 
of her locks devoid of ornament, nor to have ar- 
ranged her dress without affectation. But it was 
manifest that she was adorned with those things, and 
made use of that feigned neglect of ornament, to 
appear becoming. Through these appeared some 

* Without his allowance of water ; without trial. Alluding to 
the custom cf speaking by the Clepsydra, or water-clock, used at 
Athene, to measure time between plaintiff and defendant, that nei. 
feer party might have more talk than came to his share. 



» 



46 the fisherman; or, the 

paint and varnish, and words exceedingly meritrici 
ous. And she gloried to be praised by her lovers on 
account of her beauty; and received eagerly, if any 
person gave her presents ; and seating herself near 
the rich, not even looking on the poor sort of lovers, 
Often too, when she imprudently stripped her bosom, 
I saw her golden necklace, thicker than eels. Seeing 
these things, I immediately withdrew in my former 
footsteps, pitying, forsooth, those unhappy wretches 
who suffered themselves to be led by her, not by the 
nose, but by the beard, and, like Ixion, embracing a 
cloud for a Juno. 

Plat. You have said all this rightly : for the door 
is not easily found nor known to all. But there is 
no necessity indeed of going to her house, for we can 
wait for her here in the Ceramicus, about to come 
presently on her return from the Academy, to take her 
walk in the Pcecile, which is usual with her to do 
every day. — Bur, she is already present ! Behold her 
decent in her habit ; mild in her aspect, and walking 
placidly, and full of thought, Luc. I see many like 
her in figure, gait and dress ; and yet among them 
only one indeed is true Philosophy. Plat. You speak 
rightly ; but her beginning to speak only will manifest 
who she is. 

Philos. Wonderful ! what, are Plato and Chrysip- 
pus here above, and Aristotle, and all the others, the 
very heads of my disciples ? What brought you back 
again into life ; has any one of those below affronted 
you, for you seem angry : and who is this captive you 
are bringing along with you ; is he a thief, or a 
murderer, or a spoiler of temples ? Plat. He is, by 
Jove, O Philosophy, the most impious of all sacri- 
legious wretches, who has dared to revile thy most 
sacred person, and all of us, as many as left to 
posterity any of those things which we had learn- 
ed from you. Phil. And are you indignant at a 
certain individual slandering us, and that knowing 
me and what I suffer from Comedy at the Dionysia, 



PHILOSOPHERS REVIVED. 47 

and yet T deem her my friends, and would not at any 
time go to law with her, nor approaching, accuse her; 
but L suffer her to play those pranks which are con- 
cordant and usual at that festival : for I know that 
nothing can be rendered worse by ridicule. Rut, on 
the other hand, that whatever is beautiful, like gold, 
purified with blows, shines brighter, and becomes 
more apparent : but 1 do not know how you became 
angry and indignant. Why then do you strangle 
him. Plat. Having got leave for this one day, we 
came against him, that he might suffer punishment 
worthy his actions. For fame brought us word what 
, things he said of us, going among the vulgar. 

Philos. Will you then murder him before trial, and 
, without his answering for himself? for it is manifest 
j that he is desirous of saying something. Plat. No ; 
J but we have referred the entire affair to you, and 
whatever you think proper shall put an end to the 
suit. Philos. (to Lucian) What say you ? Luc. 
I say the very same, O sovereign Philosophy : you 
who alone can investigate the truth. Wherefore with 
many entreaties 1 scarcely obtained this, to preserve 
the determination for you. Plat. Wretch most 
accursed, do you now call her sovereign : you who a 
little while ago pronounced her most contemptible, 
, selling by proclamation in such a theatre every kind of 
d her doctrines for two oboli each. Phil. See ye, he 
did not traduce Philosophy, but some impostors, men 
j committing many base things, under my name. Luc. 
j You will immediately know, if you wish to hear me 
pleading my cause, JLet us only go into the Areopa- 
gus, or rather into die Acropolis itself, that all things 
in the city may at once appear, as if from a watch- 
j tower. 

Phil. But you in the mean time walk in the 

jPcecile; for I will return to you, having determined 

the suit. Luc. But who are "they, O Philosophy, for 

they too appear decent. Phil. She, indeed, is manly 

* Virtue — she Moderation — and Justice near her — she 



48 the fisherman; or, the 

going first is Education; *but she obscure and having 
little colour, is Tiath. Luc. I do not know whom you 
mean. P/nl. Do you not see her that is unadorned, 
naked, always flying away, and always withdrawing 
herself? Luc. I now see her, but imperfectly. But 
why do you not bring these with you also, that the 
sitting in court may be full and perfect ? but I wish 
that Truth be introduced to the trial, even as my advo- 
cate. Phil. Certainly, by Jove; do you also follow 
me ; nor will it indeed be troublesome to decide one 
cause, and that to be about our own affairs. 

Truth. Go you, for I have no need to hear things 
which I know long since. Phil* But, O truth, it 
is our interest that you should be present at the trial, 
that you may point out each particular. Truth. 
Therefore I will also bring my two handmaids, being 
most friendly to me. Phil. Certainly, and as many as 
you please. Truth. Follow with us, you Liberty and 
Freedom of speech, that we may save this trembling 
poor man, being our lover, and in danger for no just 
cause. But do you, Conviction, remain here. Luc. 
By no means, sovereign mistress ; let him come also, 
and if there be any other person ; for 1 have not to 
engage with trivial beasts, but with insolent men, 
opposing conviction, and always finding evasions : 
wherefore, Conviction is necessary. Phil. Therefore, 
indeed, he is very necessary. And it would be better 
too, for you to take Demonstration with you. Truth. 
All of you follow us, since you seem necessary for 
the trial. 

Phil. Revived. Do you see ? he will gain over 
Truth against us, O Philosophy. PhiL Do you fear 
then, Plato, Chrysippus, and Aristotle, that she will 
lie for him, being Truth. Plat. Not that indeed : 
but he is dreadfully wily, and flattering; and will 
therefore pervert her. Phil. Fear not] she will da 

* I should be more inclined to give this to Lucian, m conformity 
with other editions. 



PHILOSOPHERS REVIVED. 49 

nothing unjust, while Justice herself is present. Let 
us go therefore. 

But tell me what is your name? Luc. My name 
is Free- speaker, the son of Alethion, the grand-son 
of Elenxicles. Philos. But your country? Luc. 
1 am of Syria, O Philosophy, one of those bordering 
. on the Euphrates. But what is that to the purpose? 
for I know some of my adversaries of no less barba- 
rous race than I am ; but their manners and education 
are not like those of Solonians,* or of Cyprians,* or 
of Babylonians,* or of Stagirites.* However, with 
you, indeed, the case would be nothing worse, though 
one had a barbarous voice, provided his sentiments 
appear to be upright and just. Philos. You say 
right : I asked that therefore unnecessarily. 

But what is your profession? for that is material to 
be known. Luc. 1 am a hater of pride, and a hater 
of deception, and a hater of falsehood, and a hater 
of vanity, and I hate every such kind of impure men; 
and they are very numerous as you know. Philos. 
By Jove you have a many-hating profession. Luc. 
You say right : you see, therefore, by how many 1 am 
detested, and how I'm endangered on account of it. 
Notwithstanding that I however very perfectly know 
the profession opposite to it; I mean that having its 
commencement from loving. For I am a lover of 
truth, and a lover of beauty, and of simplicity, and 
of every tiling that is allied to loving. But, how- 
ever, very few are worthy of this, my profession ; but 
they, subject to the opposite profession, and more 
adapted for hatred, are fifty thousand. Wherefore 
I am in danger, lest I should unlearn the one thro* 
want of practice, and be too great an adept in the 
other. Philos. Certainly you ought not; for they 
say that this trade and that are alike : wherefore do 
not divide these professions, for they are but one, 

* The respective places 'where Crates, Zeno, Diogenes, and 
Aristotle, were bora, were Solo, Cyprus, Babylon, and dta^ira. 



50 the fisherman; or, the 

seeming to be two. Luc. You, O Philosophy, know 
these things best ; my nature, however, is to hate the 
bad, and to praise and love the worthy. 

Philos. Come now (for we are present where we 
ought) let us determine it some where here in the 
temple of Pallat. Priestess, arrange the seats for 
us : we, in the mean time, will adore the goddess. 
Luc. O Minerva, thou guardian of the city, come 
thou a protector to me, against insolent men, remem- 
bering how many of their perjuries you daily hear. 
You alone see what they do, being always a looker on : 
now is the time to be revenged of ihem. But if by 
any chance you see me overpowered, and the black 
pebbles are more numerous, save me thou, throwing 
in your own.* 

Philos. Come, now we are seated for you, and 
ready to hear your arguments : but do you, electing 
one out of all, who may seem best to accuse, make 
up the charge, and impeach him ; for it is not possi- 
ble that all of you could speak at once. And do you, 
Free-speaker, plead your cause after that. PhiL 
Rev. Who then of us will be fittest for this trial ? 
Chrynp. Yours is a wonderful sublimity of thought, 
Plato, and eloquence truly Attic, full of grace, and 
replete with persuasion ; then your prudence, and 
your accuracy, &\d your timely introduction of de- 
monstrations ; all these are abundantly with you. 
Wherefore do you undertake the part of the orator, 
and speak for us all what is necessary. Now remem- 
ber all these ; and collect it into one point, if any 
thing has been said by you against Gorgias, or Polus, 
or Prodicus, or Hippias ; for this fellow is more dread- 
ful. Therefore, give some sprinkling also of your 
irony, and of your elegant and perpetual interroga- 
tions.' And, if it seem proper to you, stuff in some 



* The Athenians used black and white shells, or pebbles, in giving 
their votes, before beans came to be in fashion. — Here the author 
alludes to the story of Orestes being saved by the vote of Palla*. 



PHILOSOPHERS REVIVED. 51 

where this too, "that the great Jove driving his 
winged chariot" would be indignant unless he receive 
punishment. 

Plat. Not at all ; but let us choose some more vehe- 
ment person ; this Diogenes, or Antisthenes, or 
Crates, or even you, Chrysippus ; for. there is no ne- 
cessity of beauty at the present time, or energy of 
composition, but of a certain confutation and judi- 
cial preparation. This Parrhesiades (free-speaker) 
is a Rhetorician. Diog. But 1 will accuse him ; nor 
is there need, I think, of a very long oration : and 
besides I have been affronted above ail, being sold 
lately for twooboli. Plat. Diogenes, O Philosophy, 
will make a speech for us all. But reittembe^ gene- 
rous sir, not to attend solely to your own business iu 
the accusation, but to look to the common cause; 
for if we in any manner disagree among ourselves iu 
our arguments, do not at the present inquire nor de- 
clare which is truer; but entirely express your indig- 
nation on account of Philosophy herself being ca- 
lumniated and abused in the writings of Parrhesiades; 
and omitting our sects, in which we disagree, contend 
for this which we ail have in common. See we have 
made you sole general, and our all is now at stake 
in you, that they may seem respectable, or be believed 
such, as he has made them appear. 

Diog. Have confidence; we will be deficient in 
nothing : 1 will speak for all. And should Philoso- 
phy, overthrown by his arguments, (for she is mild 
and gentle in her nature) think of letting him go, my 
labours will not certainly be wanting; for I will shew 
him, that I do not carry a stick in vain. Philos. 
That indeed must not be ; but the business must be 
done rather with arguments (for it is better) than 
with a stick Wherefore delay not, for already the 
water is poured into the clepsydra, and the court 
are looking on you. Luc. The rest may sit along 
with yon, Philosophy, and give suffrages; Diogenes 
alone will accuse. Philos. Are you not afraid then, 
E2 



52 



the fisherman; or, the 



lest they vote against you ? Luc. Not at all : for by 
many votes 1 wish to conquer. Philus. This is a 
generous design of thine; sit ye then, and you 
Diogenes speak. 

You, O Philosophy, know very accurately what 
kind of men we were in life, and there is no necessity 
of words on thai. For that I may he sitent concern- 
ing myself, who knows not that this Pythagoras, and 
Plato, and Aristotle, and Chrysippus, and' others, 
have introduced many good things into life? Now 1 
will tell with what this thrice execrable Parrhasiades 
has calumniated us being such. For being a Rheto- 
rician, as they say, leaving judgments, and the res- 
pect attached to them, as much vehemence or maturity 
of pleading he had, mustering together all those 
forces against us, he ceases not to speak badly of us, 
calling us jugglers and impesters, and persuading the 
multitude to deride and contemn us, as if we were of no 
estimation. And what is more, he has already caused 
both ourselves and you, Philosophy, to be hated by 
the vulgar, calling your dictates madness and folly, 
and reciting with buffoonery the most serious lessons 
wfeich you have taught us, that he himself might be 
applauded and praised by the spectators, and we 
insulted. For such the common people are in their 
nature ; they rejoice with scoffers and calumniators, 
and chiefly when those things are reviled, which seem 
most respectable. As, forsooth, they formerly rejoiced 
with Aristophanes and Eupolis, introducing this 
Socrates on the stage for sake of ridicule, and per- 
forming some absurd comedies about him. However, 
they, indeed, dared to do such things against a single 
man, and that at the Dionysia, where it was permitted 
to be done ; and scoffing seems to be a certain part of 
that festival, and the god* himself, being laughter 
loving, rejoices perhaps in such sports. 

But he calling together the better sort, after reflect- 



* Bacchus, 






PHILOSOPHERS REVIVED. 53 

ing for a long time, and preparing for the purpose, 
and having written certain blasphemies in a huge 
book, with a loud voice, speaks badly of Plato, 
Pythagoras, this Aristotle, Chrysippus there, and 
myself, and all of us together ; no festival permitting 
it, nor suffering any thing in private from us. The 
thing might have some excuse in it indeed, if warding 
off an injury he did so, and not beginning first him- 
self to offend. And what is most dreadful of all, 
that doing this he went under your name, O Philoso- 
phy; and taking to his side Dialogue, being our 
friend, he makes use of him as an assister and fellow- 
actor against us ; and besides, prevails on Menippus, 
our companion, to act comedies with him frequently; 
who alone is not present, nor accuses along with us, 
as being a common traitor. 

For all which crimes he deserves to suffer punish- 
ment. For what can he have to say in his defence, 
having vilified the most serious precepts before so 
many witnesses ? Wherefore it may be necessary for 
these, if they see him suffer punishment, so that no 
other person hereafter may despise Philosophy : 
whereas, to rest in peace, and bear with an injury, 
would be justly thought, not moderation, but sloth 
and ignorance. For to whom are such extremes toler- 
able? since bringing us forth into the market-place, 
like slaves, and appointing a crier, sold us, as they 
say, some indeed, at a great price, others for an Attic 
mina; but that most wicked wretch sold me for two 
oboli, the whole company present laughing at it : for 
which we, indignant, have returned to life, and en- 
treat thee to revenge our injury, being insulted with 
the most shameful opprobrium. 

Phil. JReviv. Well ! Diogenes ! you have nobly 
said for us all, whatever was necessary. Philosophy. 
Cease praising : fill now for him that is to speak next.* 

* That is, fill the Clepsydra with water# See a former note on 
this Dialogue. 

E3 



51 the fisherman; or, the 

JBut do you, Parrhesiades, speak now in your turn, 
for your water already flows : do not therefore hesi- 
tate. 

Parrh. Diogenes has not spoken all against me, 
O Philosophy, but he has omitted many charges, 
such as were more heavy, influenced by what 1 do 
not know. But as for my part, so far am I from 
being a retracter that I did not say those things, or 
from coming, having premeditated an apology, that I 
have determined, if he has omitted to say any thing 
himself, or 1 have not anticipated him, by telling it 
before, to tell it now. For so you may learn what 
kind of men 1 sold by proclamation, or have spoken 
badly of, calling them arrogant and impostors. And 
for this alone attend to me, to see if I tell truth about all. 
But if my speech seem to have any thing in it malici- 
ous or harsh, I think it more just not to blame me, 
who accuse, but those who commit such things. 

For when first I had perceived what evil practices 
are necessarily attendant on lawyers, — deception, lying, 
impudence, noise, squabbling, and innumerable other 
things, I fled them, as was proper, and betaking 
myself to thy delightful precepts, O Philosophy, 
desired to spend the remainder of my life under thy 
protection, as if carried from a storm and tempest 
into a certain tranquil port. Then having only taken 
a view of your affairs, I admired you indeed, as was 
necessary, and ail those, being law-givers of a happy 
life, and stretching their hand to those that hasten to 
it, proposing to them the most becoming and most 
useful precepts, if people would not depart from them, 
nor stumble, but, with eyes intent on the rules laid 
down by you, order and direct their life according to 
them ; which, by Jove, few in our days perform. 

But seeing many not captivated with the love of 
Philosophy, but led alone by the glory proceeding 
from the matter, very well imitating good men in 
those things which are at hand, and vulgar, and in 
whatever is easy for every person to imitate; (I mean 



PHILOSOPHERS REVIVED. 55 

their beards, and their strut, and their cloathing :) 
but, in their life and actions, v contradicting their 
outward appearance, and having studies opposite to 
your's, and corrupting the dignity of the profession, 
h was indignant ; and the affair seemed to me similar 
to this, as if any tragedian being himself soft and 
effeminate, should perform the part of Achilles, or 
Xhg£te, or Hercules himself, neither walking 'nor 
pronouncing in an heroical manner, but act delicately 
under such a mask; whom neither Helen, nor 
Polyxena, could formerly endure, being similar to 
them* beyond measure : not to mention how Hercules, 
adorned with victories, would act. At least 1 think he 
would instantly dash to pieces such a performer, 
striking him and his mask together with his club, 
being thus made so disgracefully effeminate by him. 

And seeing you yourselves suffer such injuries from 
those, I did not bear with the shame of their buf- 
foonery ; since being apes, they attempted to assume 
the characters of heroes, and to imitate the Ass ac 
Cumse;t who having cloathed himself in the lion's 
skin, wished to appear a lion himself, roaring very 
harsh and dreadfully against the ignorant Cumaeans, 
until a certain stranger, having often seen both a lion 
and an ass, reprehended him, and drove him away, 
beating him with a stick. But what appeared most 
dreadful to me, O Philosophy, was this : that men, 
if they see any of these act wickedly or shamefully, or 
libidinously, all, without exception, instantly blame 
Philosophy herself, and Chrysippus, or Plato, or 
Pythagoras, or him whose name soever that sinner 
pretended to bear, or whose precepts he pretended to 
adopt. And thus from the evil liver, they thought 
badly of you having died long before ; (for there was 

* That is, in point of effeminacy. 

f We meet with this fable in iEsop, who, however, has not so far 
honoured "the Ass in the Lion's skin," as to mention his birth- 
place* 




56 THE FISHERMAN ; OR, THE 

no enquiry concerning you while living, but since 
you have departed from amongst us,) but they all 
manifestly saw him committing atrocious and dis- 
graceful actions ; so that you, deserted by your bail, 
were condemned with them, and dragged into a simi- 
lar calumny. 

Seeing these things, I did not bear with them, but 
reprehended them,* and distinguished them from you. 
But you, who ought to honour me for these things, 
drag me to justice. Therefore, if I, perceiving any 
of the initiated, blabbing the mysteries of the goddess, 
and dancing outside the temple, t should be indignant 
and reprove him, would you consider me to be impi- 
ous ? That would not be just: when, also, those 
presiding over sacred festivals are accustomed to whip 
the actor, if any actor who undertakes the character 
of Minerva, or Neptune, or Jove, does not sustain 
it well, nor according to the dignity of the gods ; nor 
are the gods, therefore, angry with them, because they 
have delivered the persons under their character, and 
clad in their habit, to scourge-bearers, to be flogged; 
but, in my opinion, are rather delighted with their 
being whipped. For to do the part of a slave or a 
messenger, not correctly, would be a trifling error : 
but to exhibit Jove or Hercules to the spectators, not 
according to their dignity, is like an ill-omened and 
shameful action. >* 

This again is the most absurd of all, that the most 
of these, very eagerly study your doctrines ; but they 
live in such manner, as if they read and meditated on 
them for this alone, that they might pursue contrary 
things : for every thing that they say, such as to des- 
pise riches, and glory, and to consider that which is 
good, to be alone beautiful ; and to be free from anger, 
and contemn those splendid persons, and to treat with ! 

* This, as in the former paragraph, might be rendered, unmasked 
them, 

f See Lucian's treatise on dancing 5 also Stock's note on this word. 



PHILOSOPHERS REVIVED. 57 

them on an equality, is, O ye gods ! beautiful, and 
wise, and truly to be admired. But, indeed, they 
teach these things for payment, and admire the rich, 
and gape after silver, being more angry than whelps, 
and more timid than hares, more flattering than apes, 
more lewd than asses, more rapacious than cats, and 
more quarrelsom than game cocks. They, therefore, 
cause laughter, contending for these things, pushing 
one another about at the door3 of the rich, partaking 
of suppers much frequented, praising themselves 
beyond bounds at them, gormandizing beyond what 
is becoming, and appearing dissatisfied, and philoso- 
phizing amidst their cups on things unhandsome and 
absurd, and not bearing unmixed wine. But the 
illiterate, as many as feast with them, laugh forsooth, 
and despise Philosophy, since she cherishes in her 
bosom such vile wretches. 

But the most shameful of all is, that whilst every 
one of them says he wants nothing, and cries out 
that the wise man is alone rich, shortly after he comes 
and asks something, and is enraged not getting it, 
just as if some person in royal habit, having a straight 
tiara, and a diadem, and the other insignia which 
belong to royalty, should beg, asking from the poor. 
When, therefore, he hopes to receive something, there 
will be certainly a long discourse about the community 
of goods, and how indifferent wealth is ; and will he 
say, what is gold or silver? they differ nothing from 
pebbles on the shore. But if an old companion and 
friend, wanting his assistance, should come and ask 
a trifle out of a great deal, then will there be silence, 
and hesitation, and ignorance, and a retracting of 
his words into a contrary meaning. All the many 
discourses about friendship, and virtue, and honesty, 
are totally gone away, flying I know not where — 
words truly winged, with which in vain they daily 
fight their sham battles in the schools. 

So far each of them is a friend, as long as neither 
silver nor gold is lying before them : but if any person 



53 the fisherman; or, the 

should shew them a single oholus, peace is instantly 
dissolved, all agreements and negoeiations are void, 
and their books are destroyed, and virtue is fled from 
amongst them : in such manner, also, dogs act; if any 
one should throw a bone amongst them* leaping 
about they bite each other, and bark at him having 
carried off the bone. It is said, also, that a certain 
^Egyptian king once taught apes to dance tiie Pyrrhic 
dance; and tha£ Jthgge beasts (for they very easily 
mimic human actions) learned very soon to dance, 
being clad in purple, and covered round with masks ; 
and that the spectacle was for a long time admired, 
until, indeed, a certain arch spectator, having nuts in 
liis lap, cast them among them : then the apes seeing 
the nuts, and forgetting their dancing, became real 
apes, as, indeed, they were, in place of Pyrrhic dan- 
cers, and broke their masks in pieces, and tattered 
their garments, and fought with each other about the 
fruit : but the arrangement of the Pyrrhic dance was 
dissolved and laughed at by the spectators. 

And in such manner, these men act : and of such 
have 1 spoken bad, nor will 1 ever cease to reprove 
and to expose them in a comic manner. But V* you, 
and those resembling you, (for there are some truly 
seeking Philosophy, and abiding by your laws) I 
would not be so mad as to speak reproachfully, or 
uncivilly. For what could 1 have to say ? or what 
is there in your lives similar? But 1 think it merito- 
rious to hate those insolent wretches, and odious to 
the gods. But in what do you, Pythagoras, and 
Plato, and Chrysippus, and Aristotle, say such per- 
sons resemble you, or have they shewn any kindred or 
affinity to you in life? Certainly, by Jove, it is, as 
they say, Hercules and the ape.* Is it because they 
have beards, and profess to philosophize, and are of 
austere look; is it on that account they must resemble 



* A proverbial expression, to signify two things as different as 
possible from each other. 



// 



PHILOSOPHERS REVIVED, 59 

you ? But I would bear with it, if they were/ at 
least, probable in that very buffoonery : but now a 
vulture will easier mimic a nightingale, than they 
philosophers. I have spoken for myself all I had to 
saj/. But, O Truth, bear witness before them if it 
is true. 

Philos. Retire hence, Parrhesiades : — a little fur- 
ther. What are we now to do ? how did the man 
seem to you to have spoken ? Titfrifrr I ? indeed, O 
Philosophy, wished to sink under the earth, through 
shame, whilst he was speaking, so true were all the 
things he said. For 1 knew every person that did 
them, as I heard hirn, and referred them, whilst they 
were spoken, this indeed to such a person : this fel- 
low, said I to myself, did this indeed: and on the 
whole, he exhibited the men clearly, as if in a cer- 
tain picture, similar in every respect, expressing most 
accurately not only their bodies, but even their very 
souls. PhiL And I blushed exceedingly. O Virtue. 
But what do you say ? PhiL Reviv. What else, 
-but that he should be acquitted of the charge, and 
publicly inscribed our friend and benefactor ? we 
have manifestly suffered the lot of the Trojans ; we 
have raised up this tragedian against us, to sing the 
calamities of the Phrygians. Let him sing on then, 
and defame in his tragedies, those hateful to the 
gods. Diog. And I myself, O Philosophy, praise 
the man very much, and retract the accusations, and 
make him my friend, being a generous fellow. 

Philos. Bravo, Parrhesiades ; we free you from 
the accusation ; you conqner every way : besides, 
know that you are ours. Parrh* In the commence- 
ment, indeed, 1 entreated you ; but now it seems that 
I must act rather in a more tragical manner, for 
it will be more becoming. O great and splendid Vic- 
tory, protect my life, and cease not to crown me. 
Hrt. Therefore let us now taste of another cup, and 
a!l those also, that they may suffer punishment for 

:>se things, which they have reproachfully done 



/ Kr^-- 




60 the fisherman; or, the 

against us: but Parrhesiades will accuse each of 
them. Parrh. You have spoken correctly, Virtue. 
Therefore do you, young Syllogism, taking a peep 
down into the city, call hither the Philosophers by 
proclamation. 

Sj/l. Oiez! — Silence! Let the ^Philosophers come 
into the Acropolis, to plead their cause before Virtue, 
and Philosophy, and Justice. Parrh. Do you see? 
but few of them .come together, having known the 
cryer : for some besides fear Justice : but the greatest 
number of them have not leisure, being busied about 
riches. But if you wish them all to come, call them 

by proclamation, Syllogism, in this manner « 

Phil. Not at all: -but do you, Parrhesiades, call 
them hither, as it seems proper to you. 

Parrh. Neither is that difficult. — Oiez ! — Silence I 
As many as say they are Philosophers; as many as 
think they belong to them on account of the name, 
let them come into the Acropolis to the distribution : 
two minae and a cake of maize* will be given to each. 
But whosoever shall exhibit a long beard, he shall, 
besides, receive a basket of figs. But that each should 
b»ing with him Temperance, Justice, or Continence, 
that is by no means required*, nor are such things 
necessary indeed, if they are not present ; but by all 
means five syllogisms ; for it is not lawful for a wise 
man to be without these. Two talents of gold lie 
before you ; we give them to him who shall be most 
excellent to wrangle. 

Wonderful ! how full the ascent is of them^ shoving 
one another about, as soon as they but heard the two 
minoe named. Some are at the Pelasgicon, and 
others about the temple of iEsculapius, and still more 
around the Areopagus ; some, indeed, are at the se- 
pulchre of Talus, and others too having applied 
ladders to the temple of Castor, climb with a buzzing, 
byJove ? and form a cluster like a swarm of bees^ 



* A specie* of Indian corn. 



; 



PHILOSOPHERS REVIVED. 61 

dhal I may speak according to Horner. But even 
there very many, and there myriads, as many as the 
leaves and vernal flowers that are produced. In a 
short time the Acropolis will be full of them taking 
their seats with a hubbub; and everywhere will be 
found a wallet, a beard, Flattery, Impudence, a 
staff, Gluttony, a Syllogism, and a love of money. 
But the few who ascended at that first proclamation, 
are scarcely apparent, without mark of distinction, 
mixed in a crowd of the rest, and are concealed 
through a similitude of the dress of the others. That 
indeed, O Philosophy, is most dreadful, and what 
one would blame most in you, your not placing a 
mark and sign on them. For these impostors often- 
times are more probable in their manner than the 
true Philosophers. Philos. This may be done by and 
by ; but let us now receive these. 

Platonics. We Platonics ought to be received first. 
Pyth. No : but we Pythagorians ; for Pythagoras 
was the first. Stoics. Ye are trifling : we from the 
porch (the Stoics) are better than any of you. 
JPeripat. By no means: but at least, in regard to 
money, we ought to be first, who are Peripatetics. 
Epieur. Give to us Epicurians, the cakes and the 
baskets of figs ; we will wait for the minas, though we 
should receive them last. Acad. Where are the two 
talents? for we Academics will show how far we are 
better disputants than the rest. Stoics. Not at all, 
while we Stoics are present. 

Philos. Cease your quarrelling. You Cynics 
there do not shove ? nor beat each other with vour 
sticks; for you are summoned for other purposes : 
-and now I Philosophy, and Virtue herself, and Truth, 
shall know which of you are rightly Philosophers. 
Then as many as are found living according* to our 
dictates, shall be happy, being deemed best in our 
opinion. But we will severely beat to pieces the 
.'wicked impostors, and such as do not belong to us; 
that they may not affect things above them, being 
puffed up with pride. 

F 






62 the fisherman; or, the 

What's all this ? Do you fly, by Jove, many of you 
leaping down the very precipices ? The Acropolis is, 
therefore, empty, except by those few who have re- 
mained, not fearing Justice. Servants, take up the 
wallet which that Cynic threw away in his flight. 
Come, let me see what it has in it — whether lupines 
or a book, or loaves of black bread. Parrh. No : 
but this gold, and ointment, and sacrificing knife, 
and looking-glass, and dice. Philos. Well done ! 
generous fellow ! these were the viatica of your pro- 
fession; furnished with these you desired to calumni- 
ate all, and to instruct others. Pan/?. Such, indeed, 
are these for us : but you ought to see, that those 
who fall in with them, who are good men, and of 
another manner of life, may cease to be ignorant of 
these things, and know how to distinguish them. 
But you, Truth, find them out : for it would con- 
cern you, that falsehood should not prevail against 
you, and that wicked men should not, through igno- 
rance, be concealed, mixed with the good. 

Virt. We will leave this to Parrhesiades himself; 
if you think proper, since he is found to be a good 
man, and benevolent to us, and your greatest ad- 
mirer, O Philosophy ; that taking Conviction with 
him, he may investigate* all who call themselves 
philosophers. Then whomsoever he should find really 
a genuine friend of Philosophy, let him crown him 
with an olive garland, and call him to the Pryta- 
neum.t But if he should meet with any cursed man, 
merely a pretender to Philosophy, (for there are many 
such,) having dragged oft" his cloak, let him cut off 
bis beard for him to the very skin, with that kind of 
knife with which goats are shorn ; and set a stigma on 



* In the version adopted by Stock ; " cum omnibus agaU" That 
by Benedict is; «« conveniat cmnes." 

f The Common-hall, or Court of Justice, near the Senate-house 
at Athens; where those, who had deserved well of their country, 
were supported at the public expense. 



PHILOSOPHERS REVIVED. 63 

"his forehead, or burn it in between his eyebrows ; and 
let the burned impression be FOX or APE. Philos. 
Well said! O Truth! But the Conviction, O 
Parrhesiades, will be such, as that of eagles is said 
to be before the sun. Not, indeed, that they also 
should look up against the light, and be tried by 
that; but having set before them gold, and glory, 
and pleasure, which ever of them you see despise 
those things, and not attracted by their appearance, 
let him be crowned with a branch of olive: but 
whomsoever you perceive looking a( them stedfastly, 
and reaching their hand to the gold, away with him 
to the branding- iron, having first shaved off his 
beard. 

Parrh. These things shall be done as you think 
proper, O Philosophy, and you shall very speedily 
see many of them bearing the stigma FOX or APE ; 
and a few r besides crowned. If you wish, however, 
I will, by Jove, even here bring up some of them 
for you. Philos. What say you ? will you bring up 
again those flying away ? Parrk. Certainly : if 
the Priestess be pleased to lend me for a little while 
that line and hook, which the fisherman from the 
Piraeeum* dedicated to her. Priestess. Here, take it, 
together with the rod, and have all. Parrh. There- 
fore, Priestess, see that you give me some figs too, and 
a little gold. Pries. 'Take them. Philos. What 
does the man intend doing ? Pries. Having baited 
the hook with figs and gold, he, sitting on the top of 
the wall, has let it down into the city. Philos. Why 
do you do that, Parrhesiades? are you thinking to 
iish stones from the Pelasgicum ? Parrh. Silence, 
O Philosophy, and wait for the take. — Do thou, O 
fishing Neptune, and dear Ampitrite, send us hither 
many fishes. 

But I see a certain very large pike, or rather a 
gold-fish. Conviction. No: but he is a dog-fish — he 

* The great harbour of Athens, by the lower city, 

F2 



64 THE FISHERMAN,* .OR, THE 

comes, indeed, gaping to the hook. Now he smells ; 
the gold ; now he is near it ; lie has touched it ; he- 
is taken : let us draw him up. Parrh. And you, 
Conviction, lay hold of the line. He is drawn up : 
come, let's see what you are, n^ost excellent fish. 
He is indeed a Dog. By Hercules, what teeth ! 
What is this, most generous Sir ? you are taken feed- 
ing deliriously among the rocks, where, having got 
under them, you hoped to be concealed ; but now 
you isball become manifest to all, being hung up by 
the gills. Let us take off the bait and this hook. 
The hook is bare : the figs are already devoured, and 
the gold has passed into his belly. Diog. Then, by 
Jove, let him disgorge it, that we may bait the hook 
for others. Parrh. 'Tis well: what say you, Dio- 
genes, do you know who he is, or does the man 
belong to you in any way? Diog. Not at all. 
Parrh. What then? How much does lie deserve to 
be valued at ? for I think, indeed, I valued him lately 
attwooboh. Diog. You mention a great price; 
for he is not fit to be eaten, and he is horribly ugly, 
and hard, and worthless. Throw him down head- 
long from the rock: but do you draw up another, 
having let down your hook. In the mean time look 
to this, Parrhesiades, that the rod, being bent, may 
not be broken. Parrh. Fear not, Diogenes, for 
they are light, and of less weight than loaches. 
Diog. Certainly, they are most loach-like* ; however, 
draw them up. 

Parrh. See, what is this other broad fish,+ and a& 
if cut in halves, that approaches.? He is a halibut, 
gaping at the hook ; he has swallowed it ; he is held 
last: let him be drawn up. What is he? Diog. 
He says he is a Platonic. Plat. And do you, cursed 



* The play upon the words here cannot be preserved in a transla- 
tion. 

f Platys; another attempt at punning, as bordering on the name 
.yiato. 



PHILOSOPHERS REVIVED. 65 

wretch, come to the gold ? Parrh. What say you, 
Plato, what shall we do with him ? Plat. Let him 
also be cast from the same rock. 

Diog. Let the hook be sent down for another. 
Parrh. And certainly I see another, all-beautiful, 
approaching, variegated in his skin, as far as can be 
judged at the bottom, having certain golden scales 
on his back. Do you see him Conviction ? This is 
he who pretends to be Aristotle. He is come ; there, 
he has swam back again : observe him carefully : he 
returns again ; he gapes; is taken, let him be drawn 
up. Arist. Do not interrogate me about him, 
Parrhesiades, for I know not who he is. Parrh. 
Therefore, Aristotle, he also shall be thrown from 
the rocks. 

Diog. But behold I see many fishes there in the 
same place, of similar colour, thorny, and all rough 
outside, harder to be handled than crab fish. * A 
drag-net will therefore be necessary for them; but it 
is not at hand. It will be sufficient if we draw up 
but one of the company. Doubtless, the most coura- 
geous of them will come to the hook. Conv. Cast 
down if you please, having much covered your line, 
at least with iron, that they may not saw it off with 
their teeth, after having devoured the gold. Parrh* 
I have cast it down : but you, O Neptune, perfect 
the take. Wonderful! they are righting about the 
bait ; and some indeed in numbers, gnaw the figs at 
once ; and others lay hold of the gold, clinging to it- 
*Tis well! one of the very strongest is hooked 
through. Come, let me see, by whose name do you 
call yourself? Though I am, indeed, ridiculous, 
compelling a fish to speak ; for they are route, f 
But do you, Conviction, tell what master he has. 
Conv. This Chrysippus. Parrh. I understand, be- 
cause I think gold (Chrj/susJ was in his name. 

* Alluding to the crabbed and thorny subtilties of the Stoies* 
t Alluding to the Proverb; "More mu:* than fishes.'' 

F3 



66 THE FISHERMAN, &C. 

Do you therefore, Chrysippus, tell us by Minerva,' 
do you know the men, or do yon exhort them to do 
these things? Chry. Certainly, by Jove, you ask 
me reproachfully, Parrhesiades, surmising that, being 
such persons, they belong to us. Parrh. Well said, 
Chrysippus; you are a noble fellow. So he therefore 
shall go headlong with the rest, since he is a thorny 
fynave : and it is to be feared lest some person should 
transpierce his throat, eating him. 

P/ri/os. There ^s enough of taking, Parrhesiades, 
lest any one of them, since they are numerous, should 
go off' with your gold and your hook, and then you 
would be obliged to make it good to the Priestess. 
Wherefore we will go take our walk : it is time also 
that you should depart to where you came from, lesfc 
you exceed thefuriow given you. And yon, Parrhe- 
siades, and Conviction, going to them all in rotation, 
either crown*or stigmatize them, as you said. Parrh. 
It shall be so, Philosophy. Farewell, most excellent 
of men. But let us, O Conviction, descend, and 
perfect the things enjoined on us. But which way 
shall we go first? whether to the Academy or to the 
Porch ? or shall we make a commencement with the 
Lyceum? it will make no difference. I know, how- 
ever, that wherever we go, we will have need ; indeed^, 
ef few crowns, but of many branding-irons. 



■ 



r. " 






\ V 




IJiomctfKUo; 

01?, 

CAUCASUS. 



MERCURY. VULCAN. PROMETHEUS. 

Merc. £ his, indeed, is Caucasus, Vulcan, to 
which this miserable Titan must he nailed. Let us 
now look round for some convenient precipice, wher- 
ever it is naked of snow, that the chains may be 
fastened down more firmly, and he, pendant, may be 
conspicuous to ail. Vide. Let us look round, Mer- 
cury, for he must be crucified neither on alow place, 
and near the earth, that men, his own making, may 
not assist him ; nor even upon a summit ; for there he 
would be unseen by those below: but if you think 
proper, let him be crucified some where here in the 
middle, above the precipice, extending his hands from 
this rjQck to the opposite one. Merc. You say right; 
for here the rocks are cragged and inaccessible, and 
every way gradually inclined, and the precipice has but 
this narrow ascent for the feet, that one could'scavcely 
stand any where on tip-toe; and altogether, a most 
advantageous cross could be made here. Do not he- 
sitate, therefore, Prometheus, but ascend, and give 
yourself to be fastened down to the mountain. 
JProm. But do you at least, Vulcan and Mercury^ 
pity me, unfortunate beyond my deserts. Merc. 
Is this what you say, Prometheus, " have pity on 
mo p " iu place of " Prepare yourselves" to be nailed 



68 PROMETHEUS; OR, CAUCASUS. 

up immediately for disobedience of orders? Or does 
not Caucasus seem to you to be a proper place for 
containing two other persons to be crucified ? But 
stretch out your right hand ; and you, Vulcan, bind 
and nail it down, and strike down the hammer forcibly. 
Give the other hand also ; let it too be bound down 
well. It is well : the eagle too will fly down presently, 
to tear your liver, that you may have all your punish- 
ment for your handsome and well devised work. 
Prom. O Saturn! and lapetus ! and you mother 
Earth ! what dire things do I suffer, wretched as I 
am, having done nothing wicked. 

Merc. Have you, Prometheus, committed nothing 
wicked, who, at first, having in your care the distri- 
bution of meat, acted so unjustly and fraudulently, as 
to have taken off the best part for yourself, and tricked 
Jupiter, concealing the bones in white fat? for I 
remember Hesiod,* by Jove, saying so. Then you 
made men, the most subtle animals, and chiefly 
women. But above all, you stole fire, the most pre- 
cious possession of the gods, and gave it to men. 
Having committed such dire crimes, do you-say you 
are bound for having done nothing unjustly ? Prom. 
You also seem to me, Mercury, according to the 
poet, to blame the blameless,+ who produce such 
crimes against me, for which I, indeed, would esteem 
myself worthy of support in the Prytanseum, if jus- 
tice were done. But if you have leisure, I would 
willingly make a just defence for myself, before you, 
concerning these charges, that I might show that Jove 
made unjust decrees against me. But do you (for you 
are loquacious and skilled in the law) make a defence 
for him, and prove, if you can, that he justly laid 
down the pebble against me, by which I am con- 
demned to be crucified near these Caspian gates on 
Caucasus, a most miserable spectacle for all the 
Scythians. Merc. You will contend, O Prome^eus* 






Thcogn. 540. f Homer ; Ilios, XII L 775. 






PROMETHEUS \ OR, CAUCASUS. 69 

whh x .rather a late and useless challenge. Tell me, 
however: f!)r we should at any rate remain here 'till 
the eagle fly down, to take the charge of your liver. 
In the mean time it would be well to make use of all 
this leisure in hearing your sophistry, so very wily you 
are in your arguments. Prom, Do you speak first, 
Mercury, and so that you may accuse me most vehe- 
mently, and not depart in any 'point from your father's 
justice. But, Vulcan, I make you my Judge. Vale. 
Certainly not, by Jove: but know that you will haye 
me an accuser, in place of a judge, you who having 
stolen my fire, left my furnace cold forme. Prom. 
Therefore, dividing the indictment between you, do 
you now declare concerning theft ; and Mercury will 
accuse me of the formation of man, and the distribu- 
tion of the meat : for both of you seem to be artists, 
and skilled in speaking. Vide. Mercury too, will 
speak for me; for I am not conversant in judicial 
arguments, but have myself employed for the most 
part about my forge : but he is a retorician, and such 
things have been studied by him not lightly. 

Prom. I never thought it would happen, that Mer- 
eury would wish- to speak of theft, or upbraid me with 
any such thing, being of the same trade. However, 
O son of Maia, if you take even this upon yourself, 
it is now time to put an end to the accusation. Merc. 
Therefore, there is much need of long arguments, O 
Prometheus, and of a certain sufficient preparation 
against the things done by you : but is it not enough 
to mention the heads only of your crimes ? because, 
you kept the best part of the meat for yourself, when 
it was allotted to you to divide it ; and you deceived 
the king, and you formed men, which you should not; 
and having stolen the fire from us, brought it to them. 
And you seem to me, most excellent sir, not to be 
conscious amidst crimes of such nature, that you have 
experienced Jove very philanthropic. If you are 
therefore, indeed, a denyer, that you did not these 
things, it will be necessary for me both to prove the 



70 PROMETHEUS; OR, CAUCASUS. 

contrary, and to draw out a certain long discourse, 
and to endeavour, as much as possible, to declare the 
truth: but if you say that such a distribution of the 
meat was made, and that the things concerning the 
formation of men were innovations, and that the fire 
was stolen ; 1 have sufficiently accused you, and I 
would not speak more, for such would be downright 
trifling. Prom. If, indeed, these which you have 
said, be trifles, we will see a little after : but I, 
since you say your accusations against me are suffici- 
ent, will endeavour, as much as 1 can, to dissolve the 
accusations. And first, hear the circumstances about 
the meat ; although i swear by heaven, even now 
telling them, 1 am ashamed on Jove's account, who 
is so mean-spirited and quarrelsome about his share, 
that because he found a small bone in his share, he 
should send a god so very ancient to be crucified, not 
mindful of the assistance I gave hi?n 7 nor considering 
how trilling the cause of his anger is, and how childish 
it is to be angry and indignant for not having himself 
received the greater part. But, Mercury, 1 think it 
not becoming to keep in memory such frauds, being 
convivial ones; but, if any transgression was com- 
mitted during the Banquet, to consider it a joke, and 
there to leave his anger after him in the feast. But to 
store* up hatred for the next day, and to remember 
injuries, and to keep a certain memory of yesterday, 
is despicable, and not becoming the gods, and, be- 
sides, not kingly. 

If any person, therefore, should take away from 
feasting, such pleasantry, and petty frauds, and raillery, 
and humour, and laughter, nothing but intoxication 
will be left, and repletion, and silence; things sad 
and unpleasant, and by no means becoming a banquet. 
Wherefore, I neither thought that Jupiter would 
remember till the next day, much less, that he would, 
therefore, be so indignant, and consider himself to have 

* Cafr translates it, " to cater a quarrel/' &c. 



PROMETHEUS; OR, CAUCASUS. 71 

suffered very grievously, if one distributing meat, should 
play a littlejoke, trying whether be receiving it, would 
know the best. But, Mercury, suppose thatwhich is 
more grievous, that 1 had not distributed to Jove the 
smaller part, but to have taken away the whole, what 
then ? should he, therefore, as the saying is, confound 
heaven and earth, think of chains and crosses, and all 
Caucasus, and send down eagles, and crop my liver? 
Let him see, however, that these things do not prove 
the very narrow heart of him, indignant, and an un- 
generous mind, and. an inclination to anger ! What 
would he have done had he lost the entire ox, if he 
is so much displeased on account of a few bits of 
meat? yet/* by how much more modesty are men 
affected in such things, for whom it were natural to be 
more vehement in auger than the gods ? There is not 
one of them, however, would punish his cook with a 
cross, if, roasting meat, having dipped in his finger, 
he licked round the gravy ; or having torn off a bit 
from (he roasted meat, he swallowed it ; but they 
grant them pardon. But, if they are very angry, 
they either box them, or strike them on the cheeks; 
but none is crucified t>y them on account of such 
things. And so far about the meat. Even to me, to 
make an apology for such things, is shameful ; but 
much more shameful for him to defend. 

Concerning my plastic art, and that I have made 
men, it is now time to speak. But since that, Mer- 
cury, has a double indictment, 1 know not on what 
side you may accuse me; whether that men should not 
be made at all, but that it were better for them to have 
remained an unformed lump of earth ; or that it were 

roper they should be made, but in another, and not 
n this manner? I will, however, speak on both 

owls. And first, indeed, 1 will endeavour to prove, 
that no harm was done the gods from this, by bringing 

* From this to the end of the paragraph, is omitted in Stock s 
traiisiiUiou, 



72 PROMETHEUS; OR, CAUCASUS. 

mta into life ; and then, that the circumstances was 
far mare useful and better for them, than if the earth 
happened to remain desert and void of men. For- 
merly, therefore, there was only a divine and heavenly 
race ; for thus it will be more easily manifest, whether 
1 have committed any crime by ornamenting the earth, 
and renewing the race of man. The eai th was a wild 
and deformed thing, all horrid with woods, and those 
dreary ; nor were there altars or temples of the gods ; 
but where came statues, or effigies, or any such 
things, such as appear now every where in abundance, 
honored with every care ? But I imagined that it 
were best, if having taken a little clay, 1 made and 
formed certain living creatures like ourselves in shape; 
for I am always studying for the common good, and 
considering how the affairs of the gods might be aug- 
mented, and all other things encrease in ornament and 
beauty. For I thought something would be wanting 
to divinity, whilst nothing existed contrary to itself, 
and which, on a comparison, would shew that it 
(divinity) was more happy: that that ought to be 
* mortal, but otherwise most industrious arid prudent, 
and, what is best, endowed with intellect. And, there- 
fore, according to the saying of the poet,* mixing 
and softening earth with water, I formed men, having 
at the same time, called in Minerva, that she might 
lend a hand to the work, along with me. 

These are the grievous things with which I have 
offended the gods. And you see what a loss it is, if I 
made living creatures of clay, and brought into action 
what was before that motionless: and from that time, 
as it seems, the gods forsooth, are less gods than they 
were, because certain mortal animals had been pro- 
duced on the earth. For Jupiter is as angry as if 
some of their dominions were taken from the gods by 
the formation of man. Unless by chance he dreads 
this, lest they meditate a revolt against him, and wage 

* See HesiocPs " Works and Pays/' ver. 61. 






Prometheus; or, Caucasus. ?3 

war on the gods, like the giants. Bat it is plain, 
Mercury, that no injury happened to you from me and 
my works : do you shew me any one injur?/, and that 
the smallest, and I will be silent, and I will suffer 
just punishment from you. Thus learn, that these 
were most useful to the gods, if you contemplate the 
earth being no longer filthy nor unbeautiful, but 
adorned with cities, growing corn, and useful plants ; 
the sea navigated, the islands inhabited ; altars, sacri- 
fices, temples, and the celebrations of festivals every 
where ; all the ways full of Jove, and every market- 
place full of men. "But if 1 had formed this possession 
for myself alone, I would be practically more rich; 
bqt now producing it for the common good, I have 
given it to yourselves. Moreover, the temples of Jove, 
and of Apollo, and yours, Mercury, may be seen 
every where, but that of Prometheus no where. You 
see by this how I watch for my own advantages, and 
betray and diminish the common good. Put the case 
thus with me, Mercury : — consider with yourself, whe- 
ther any thing seem good to you that wants a witness 
to admire it : do you imagine that possessions and 
wealth, which nobody sees nor admires, are, neverthe- 
less, pleasing and delightful to the person having them. 
I say these things, because if no man existed, the 
beauty of the universe would be without witnesses, and 
we would possess certain riches, neither to be admired 
by any other person, nor held in honour alike by our- 
selves; for nothing would exist, to which, as more 
imperfect, we could compare them, nor could we 
know how happy we are, seeing no persons deprived 
of our own enjoyments ; for thus what is great can be 
shown to be great, when it is measured with little. 
But you, who ought to respect me for my subtle in- 
vention, have raised me on a gibbet, and such is the 
recompense you have made me for my good intentions. 
But you will say some among them are wicked : 
they commit adulteries, wage wars, marry their own 
sisters, lie in wait for their fathers. Is there net a 

G 



I 



74 PROMETHEUS; OR, CAUCASUS. 

great abundance of such crimes among ourselves ? nor 
does any one of us, for that reason, blame Coelus and 
Terra, because they put us together. And, perhaps, 
you will allege this too, that they, of course, give us 
a great deal of trouble, whilst we take care of them. 
"With equal reason too the shepherd might complain, 
that he has a flock, because, of course, he must take 
care of them ; this may be, indeed, laborious to him ; 
it is, notwithstanding, pleasing also ; and this care 
has in it no unpleasant exercise. For what would we 
do, if we had not mortals to provide for ? We would, 
forsooth, lounge about, and drink nectar, and stuff 
ourselves with ambrosia, in idleness. Rut what mostly 
Hetties me is this ; that you who accuse me for having 
made men 5 and particularly women, love them, how- 
ever, and cease not to descend to earth, sometimes 
changed into bulls, sometimes into satyres and swans, 
and deign to beget gods of them.* But, perhaps, 
you will say, that it was proper that men should be 
made, but after another manner, and not like us. 
And what other model could 1 purpose better than 
this, which I knew to be altogether beautiful ? Should 
1 have made man an unrational, wild, and savage 
animal ? and if they had not been made such as they 
are, how could they sacrifice to the gods, or pay you 
other honours ? You, however, when they offer he* 
catombs to you, are not slow, though it were neces- 
sary for you to pass over the ocean to the blameless 
^Ethiopians ; in the mean time you raise me on a 
gibbet, uho am the cause of your honour and sacri- 
fices, And these are enough about men. 

Now, if it seems proper to you, 1 come to the fire, 
and that disgraceful theft. And, by the gods / entreat 
you, answer me this without hesitation, have we lost any 
of that fire since it is with mankind ? Such, 1 think, 



* Some render it, to make gods of them. Massieu, the French 
translator says, " et vous ne dedaignez point dc les admettre « fhmnftir 
defair avcc vous dc nouveattx Diem" 



I 



PROMETHEUS; OR, CAUCASUS. (5 

is the nature of this property, that it becomes nothing 
less, though one should participate of it : for it is not 
extinguished, by lighting any thing with it. There- 
fore, it is certainly an envy to prohibit the use of those 
things to the needy, which you can dispense with 
without loss. But on the other hand, since you are 
gods, you ought to be munificent, and distributers of 
advantages, and void of all envy : even supposing 
I stole the entire of this fire, and brought it on the 
earth, not leavings particle of it to you, I would 
not have injured you much; nor have you any need 
of it, who are not cold, nor cook your ambrosia, nor 
want artificial light : but men use fire of necessity^ 
for other things, but chiefly in sacrifices, that 
they may be able to fumigate the ways with odours, 
and to burn incense, and to roast the thighs of 
cattle on your altars. But 1 perceive you are very 
much delighted wfth that fumigation, and consider 
those banquets most delicious, w T hen the fumigation 
penetrates into heaven, involved in smoke. This 
complaint, therefore, must be most repugnant to your 
own wishes : but I wonder why you did not forbid 
the sun to shine on them ; and yet this is a fire much 
more divine and more burning ; do you blame him too 
for wasting our property. 1 have done. But do you, 
Mercury and Vulcan, if any thing seems to you not 
well said, correct and reprove my arguments, and I 
will again speak in my defence. 

Merc. It is not easy, Prometheus, to contend with 
so able a pleader : however, it was for your advan- 
tage that J upiter did not hear this from you ; for if 
he did) I know very well that he would have placed 
sixteen vultures to dig out your entrails, you have so 
dreadfully accused him, seeming to apologize for your- 
self. But I wonder at this, how, being a prophet, 
you did not know you would suffer such punishment. 
Prom. 1 knew, Mercury, both this indeed, and that 
\ will be again liberated ; and shortly, a certain friend 

G2 



76 PROMETHEUS ; OR, CAUCASUS. 

©f your's* will come from Thebes, to transpierce, with 
his arrows, that eagle, which you say is to fly down. 
against me. Merc 1 wish that may happen, Pro- 
metheus, and that 1 may see you set at liberty, and 
feasting along with us; but not, however, distributing 
the meat. Prom. Have courage — 1 will feast with 
you, and Jupiter will set me free for no small felicity. 
Merc. What is that ? do not hesitate to mention it. 
Prom. Do you know Thetis ? but 1 should not name 
it; for it is betler to keep the secret, that it may be 
the price and my ransom from condemnation. JShrc. 
Well, keep it *Titan, since it is betler. We must 
begone, Vulcan, for now this eagle is near. There- 
fore, Prometheus, bear it with courage; but, I wish 
that Theban archer ycu mention would come to you 
now, that he might give you some cessation from the 
butchery of this bird. 

* The Theban Hercuks, who killed the eagle, according to Hesiod. 
^-Theogn. ver. 526. 



'.. - 









HOW HISTORY 

Ought to be written.* 



.+ ♦ » «— 



1 hey say, my worthy Philo, that while Lysima- 
ehus was yet ruling, a certain disorder of this nature 
befel the people of Abdera; that at first, indeed, all 
were epidemically seized with a fever, violently from the 
very first day, and with incessant inflammation ; but 
that about the seventh day, with some, indeed, blood 
flowing abundantly from their nostrils, with others 
perspiration coming on, and that in profusion, dis- 
solved the fever. However, a certain affection enve- 
loped their minds to a ridiculous pitch; for they were 
all turned astray to Tragedy, and pronounced 
Iambics.f and roared aloud ; but especially they sor- 
rowfully chaunted the Andromeda of Euripides, and 
repeated the speech of Perseus in a melodious manner. 
And so the city was rilled with all these pale, emaci- 
ated, seventh-day tragedians, exclaiming u But thou, 
O Love, thou tyrant of gods and men," and other 
passages, with a loud voice, and that for a long time ; 
till winter, and a severe cold coming on, put a period 
to their delirium. It seems to me that Archelaus, the 
tragedian, then in great esteem, gave occasion to such 
an event, who, in the middle of summer, while the 
heat was very great, performed for them the tragedy 

* The reader would do well to compare with this, the Abbe de 
Mably ? s excellent treatise JDe la Maniere (Vccrire PHistoire. There 
are many who consider it, in point of style, method, and the abun- 
dance of its examples, much superior to this, of Lucian. 

f The usual measure of Greek Tragedies 

G3 



78 HOW HISTORY 

of Andromeda, so tliat many were seized with the 
fever, from the theatre itself, and rising thence, fell 
into Lragediziiig, the Andromeda with a certain sweet- 
ness haunting their memory, and Perseus with his 
Medusa still hovering about the imaginations of each. 

If it is allowable, therefore, to compare one thing 
with another, as they say, that Abderile distemper 
in our times too seized many of the literati ; not that, 
indeed, they perform tragedies ; for thus they would 
be less delirious, if they were fascinated with the 
Iambics of others, and those not bad ones. But, 
from the beginning of the present commotion, I mean 
the war against the barbarians, the injury received in 
Armenia,* and the continual victories, there is not 
one who does not write a history, or rather, we have 
them all Thucydideses, Herodotuses, and Xenophons : 
and, as it seems, that saying was true, " War is the 
parent of all things, "+ since one single onset has pro- 
duced so many historians. 

Seeing and hearing these things, therefore, my 
friend, the behaviour of Sinope occurred to me : for 
when it was told that Philip was about leading his 
army against the Corinthians, they all began to be in 
great confusion and fear ; one provided arms, another 
brought stones^ another repaired the w r alls, and a 
fourth strengthened the battlements of the walls, and 
another laboured at one of those matters which were 
mseful. But Diogenes seeing all this, and having 
nothing else to do, (for nobody employed him for any 
purpose; having tucked up his cloak, he began very 
carefully to roll up and down through the Cranium, 
the tub in which he used to live; and one of his ao 

* See the Abbe Eesley in his Observations (Tom XXV. p. 87.) 
"sur deux raedailles singulieres de Marc-Aurele & de Lucius Verus," 
where he makes some reflections similar to, and particularly takes 
notice of this passage of Lucian. 

f According to Empedocles, and some other ancient philosophers, 
the discord and confusion of the dements have given birth tes 
lb* Universe. 



OUGHT TO BE WRITTEN. 79 

qnaintances asking him " Why do you do this, 
Diogenes?" he answered, " I too roll my tub, thai I 
may not seem the only idle person among so many at 
work. 

Therefore, 1 too, Philo, that I may not* be the only 
mute person at so vocal a time, nor pass along gaping 
in dumb show, like a comic satellite, thought it be- 
came me to roll my tub too, in the best manner 1 
could ; not in writing a history, nor in relating the 
facts themselves : 1 am not so presumptuous, nor need 
you fear this from.me; for I know how great the lin- 
ger is, in any person's rolling over rocks such a tub as 
mine in particular, not being very well made by the 
potter; for 1 would be obliged to pick up the shreds, 
if I struck it even against a small pebble. 1 will, there- 
fore, tell you what 1 have determined on> and how I 
am with safety to take apart in this war, stationing 
myself beyond the cast of an arrow ; 1 will, indeed, 
w 7 ith prudent council, keep myself free from the smoke, 
and the waves, and the cares which are attendant on 
writing; but shall offer to writers a little advice, and 
these few precepts, that 1 may come in for some part 
of the edifice, though no mention of my name will 
be in the inscription, who am only to touch the mortar 
with the top of my finger. 

Though most people think they have no need of 
advice for this purpose, no more than they have for a 
crta in art in walking, or seeing, or eating ; but that it 
is a very easy and obvious matter to write a history, and 
is in the power of every person, provided he can ex- 
press the things that come into his mind. You, how- 
ever, my friend, know very well that this is not one 
of the easiest performances, nor such as will admit of 
being done negligently ; but that it, above all other 
literary pursuits, requires much care, if a person de- 
sires to compose, as Thucydides says, an eternal pos- 
session. 1 know, indeed, it will happen, that 1 shall 
not engage very many readers, but seem altogether 
odious to some ; especially to those who have already 



80 now HISTORY 

completed and submitted a history to the public. 
But if such history has been praised by those that 
heard it read, it would be madness to hope, that such 
writers would retract, or write otherwise, any part of 
those things which have been once confirmed by 
approbation, and, as it were, deposited in the palaces 
of kings. Nevertheless, it will be no great harm that 
these precepts be addressed even to them, that if, per- 
chance, any other war should break out, either of 
the Cels against the Getfe, or of the Indians against 
the Bact nans, (for no nation will dare to wage any such 
war against us, all of them being now subdued,) they 
may have it in their power to write better, by applying 
this rule, if indeed, it seem to them a correct one ; but 
if not, they may measure their performance by the same 
yard that they use at present : nor will the physician be 
much troubled, if all the people of Abdera, wilfully 
perform the tragedy of Andromeda. 

But since the business of my advice is two-fold, 
as it teaches to choose some things, and to avoid 
others, let us first direct what faults are to be avoided 
by the writer of history, and from what influence he 
ought to be free ; then by adopting what, he cannot 
wander from the true way, and what may lead him 
through the direct course ; what exordium he is to 
begin with; what order is to be adapted to his sub- 
jects ; what are to be the limits of each ; what affairs 
are to be passed by in silence; on what he must dwell ; 
what he should touch upon rather slightly ; how all 
is to be expressed in language, to be joined and con- 
nected together: and of these and such like we will 
speak hereafter. But now, in the first place, let us 
treat of the fault which bad writers commit. It would 
be tedious, indeed, to enumerate the usual faults of 
writings in general ; in diction, in composition, in the 
sentiments, and those faults proceeding from igno- 
rance ; and it is by no means suitable to my design ; 
for common faults of every kind of writing, as I have 
just said, are either in the language ; or thecongruity 
of the expression. 



I 



OUGHT TO BE WRITTEN. 8i 

If you wish to observe, you may find those faults 
which writers commit in history, to be such as they 
have also seemed to me, who have often heard them, 
and particularly if you lend an attentive ear to all 
these publications. But, in the mean time, it would 
not be unseasonable to mention, by way of specimen, 
some of those histories which have been already writ- 
ten in this manner. And first, indeed, let us observe 
how great a fault they commit in this, that the genera- ' 
lity of them omit to relate facts, and dwell on the 
praises of princes and generals, highly extolling their 
countrymen, but undervaluing the enemy beyond 
measure ; ignorant that history is divided and separated 
from encomiums by no narrow isthmus, but that an 
uhsuperable barrier is interposed between them; and, 
to use the expression of musicians, they are divided 
from each other by a double Diapason*; since the 
only care of the person writing an encomium, is to 
praise in some way, and to gratify him that is praised, 
and not to be concerned, even though he obtain his 
end by lying : but history cannot bear even the slight- 
est falsehood, no more than the trachean artery, as 
the sons of Physicians tell us, can receive any thing 
into it that is swallowed. 

Besides, such writers seem to be ignorant, that the 
design of poetry and poems is different from that of 
history r , and that they have their own proper rules; 
and that history has different rules from them : for in 
those is an unbounded liberty, and the law is but one, 
that is, whatever seems fit to the poet. For when full 
of divine inspiration, and possessed of the muses, 
though he should think fit to yoke winged horses to his 
chariot, and though he should set some to run over 
the waters, or on the tops of the ears of corn, he is 
not, however, censured ; nor when their Jove, sus- 
pends both earth and sea together, drawing them up 
with a single chain, do they fear lest, the chain break- 

* Proverbially, for the greatest possible distance* 



82 HOW HISTORY 

ing, all these tumbling headlong, should be dashed in 
pieces. If, also, they are pleased to praise Agamem- 
non, no one will forbid him having his head and eyes 
compared to Jove's, or his breast to his brother Nep- 
tune's, or his girdle to that of Mars, and on the whole, 
the son of Aerope and Atreus ought to be a composi- 
tion of all the gods ; for neither Jupiter, nor Neptune, 
nor Mars, could alone of themselves, exhibit his 
beauty. But if history acquires any such adulation, 
what else will it be but a certain poetical prose, desti- 
tute, indeed, of that pomp of language, but placing be- 
fore our eyes, all the other monstrous fictions, naked of 
metre, and more conspicuous for that very reason. It. 
is, therefore, a great, or rather an exceeding great 
fault, if a writer knows not to keep distinct the pro- 
vinces of history and poetry, but introduces into his- 
tory the varnish of the other art ; suppose fable and 
panegyric, and the excesses that are in both; as if 
one were to dress in purple and other meretricious 
apparel, a wrestler, (one of those robust fellows, and 
manifestly stout as oak,) and rub paint and white lead 
on his face ; how base to be seen would he render him, 
O Hercules, how disgraceful in his very dress. 

Nor do 1 say this, as if we must not sometimes, 
praise in history ; but we must praise in proper time, 
and bounds are to be used in the affairs, in as much 
as that praise may not be disgusting to the readers; 
and such works should be directed by the rule of future 
times, as we will point out a little after. But do you 
percieve how much they wander from truth, who 
think they justly divide History into two parts — plea- 
sure and utility ; and on that account introduce pane- 
gyric into it, as a certain delectable ingredient, and 
agreeable to readers : first, indeed, because they use a 
false division; for the only business and end of his* 
tory is utility, which is collected from truth alone. 
But as to the agreeable, it is better, indeed, if that too 
accompany it, as beauty may advantageously accom- 
pany a wrestler : but if not,, there is nothing; to hinder 



OUGHT TO RE WRITTEN*, S3 

Nicostratus,* the son of Isidotus, from being esteemed 
the eighthi in glory after Hercules, since he was a 
brave man, and stouter than either of his antagonists, 
though he was of most ugly countenance; but Alceus, 
the handsome Milesian, and he too beloved, as they 
say, by Nicostratus, might also contend with him. 
History, therefore, if besides its utility, it adopts 
pleasure by the bye, it will entice many admirers : 
but as long as it possesses solely its own perfection, I 
mean the manifestation of truth, it will little regard 
beauty. 

It may be proper still to observe, that nothing is 
pleasing in history that is downright fabulous, and 
that to praise is a tiling particularly prejudicial to the 
hearers on either side, if you do not only regard the 
dregs of the people and the vulgar, but those too, who 
will listen like critics, and moreover, like calumniators; 
whom nothing can escape, seeing more sharply than 
Argus, and that from all parts of their body, exploring 
every thing said with the caution of a money- dealer, 
immediately rejecting the counterfeits, but accepting 
such as are genuine, legal, and have a fair impression. 
These the historian ought to attend to, but to pay 
little regard to the others, even though they burst 
themselves with applauses. But if disregarding these, 
you season your history beyond bounds, with fables and 
praises, and other false ornaments, you will very easily 
render it like Hercules in Lydia : for it is most likely 
that you have seen him painted some where, as waiting 
on Omphale, and dressed in a habit manifestly foreign 
to his character; her, indeed, clad in the lion's skin, 
and holding the club in her hand, as if, forsooth, she 
were Hercules, but him in saffron and purple gar* 
-merits, carding wool, and beaten with Omphales* 

• This Nicostratus was a wrestler who bore away two prizes in tjie 
204th Olympiad. 

f See note in Stock. But Riollay, the Oxford editor, highly 
4^approves of Palmerius* conjecture. 



84 HOW HISTORY 

f 

sandal. And this is the most shameful sight, that the 
vesture falls from his body, not sufficiently fitted to 
him ; and all that is manly in the god, disgracefully 
rendered effeminate. 

But the vulgar, perhaps, will applaud this in you ; 
while the few, whom you despise, will laugh heartily 
indeed, and that till they are satisfied, observing an 
absurd, incongruous, and jumbled business; for every 
individual thing has its own beauty: but, if you 
change the place of these, that very same beauty will 
be deformed, because it is perverted from its use. I 
omit mentioning that praises agreeable, perhaps, to 
some one person, namely, to him that is praised, are 
disagreeable to others, particularly if they contain 
immoderate excess, such as the generality make it, 
whilst they hunt after the favour of those whom they 
praise, and dwell so long on them, until they make 
their adulation manifest to every body. For they 
neither know how to do it with ingenuity, nor do they 
throw a cover over their flattery ; but making an onset, 
they rush on with every thing jumbled, improbable, 
and stripped of the shade of delicacy. 

By these means they do not acquire that which they 
most eagerly desire ; for they that are praised by them, 
rather hate them, and detest them as flatterers, and 
deservedly, indeed, especially if they are of a manly 
and generous spirit. As when Aristobulus wrote the 
single combat of Alexander with Porus, and read to 
him that passage of lus book in particular, (for he 
thought he would gain great favour from that king, be- 
cause he fictitiously attributed to him certain valorous 
exploits, and pretended his actions were greater than 
they were in reality,) the hero having snatched the book, 
(for they happened to be sailing on the river Hydaspes) 
threw it headlong into the water, adding these words, 
4< and you too, Aristobulus, ought to be treated in 
like manner, w r ho have undertaken that battle for me, 
and slain elephants with a javelin." And Alexander 
aught to be thus indignant, since he could not even 






: -,s -%?rZ/& tferrv 



OUfirflT TO BE WRITTEN. 85 



bear the presumption of the architect, promising that 
be would make Athos a statue for him, and change 
the mountain into a likeness of the king: but imme- 
diately discovering the man to be a flatterer he em- 
ployed him no longer, not even in business similar to 
what he used to do. 

Where then is the pleasure in these eulogiums, 
unless a man be so downright stupid, as to love to be 
praised in such manner, that his vanity may be mani- 
fested in their very track? like ugly men, and particu- 
larly silly women, who enjoin it on their painters, to 
represent them as handsome as possible ; for they 
imagine, that they themselves will be more beautiful, if 
the painter makes use of a greater bloom of rouge in 
their pictures, and infuse much white in his colours. 
Such is the generality of historians, who serve the 
present time and their own interest, and the advantage 
which they expect from their histories. These it were 
laudable to detest, since at the present time, indeed, 
they are manifest flatterers, and injudicious ones too ; 
and by their extravagance make the whole affair sus- 
pected at a future period. But shouid any one think 
that the delectable should be by all means mixed with 
history, let him intersperse those things only, which, 
together with truth, are graceful among the other 
ornaments of speech ; which species of decoration, 
being neglected, these vulgar historians insert those 
ridiculous topics which are nothing to the purpose. 

But I shall now relate all i recollect of some histo- 
rians I lately heard in Ionia, and indeed in Achaia 
too, reciting this same war : and by the Graces, I 
.entreat you, let no one discredit what 1 shall say, for I 
would even swear that they were true, if it were polite 
to introduce an oath in a book. A certain one of 
them began presently with the Muses, praying the 
goddesses to lend a hand to the performance along with 
him. You see what a proper exordium this is, and how 
suitable to history, and what becomes such species of 
composition ! Then proceeding a little, he compared 

H 



85 HOW HISTORY 

our prince, forsooth, to Achilles, and the king of the 
Persians to Thersites, not reflecting how much the 
more noble his Achilles would be, if he killed a Hector 
rather than a Thersites, and if some brave person fled 
first, but another much braver urged him on : then 
he added a certain panegyric on himself, and what a 
fit writer happened to record such splendid actions. 
And now proceeding, he praised his country Miletus, 
adding, that he acted much better than Homer iu this 
respect, who never made mention of his country. 
At length in the conclusion of his Preface, he promises 
in plain terms, and unequivocally, to exagerate our 
affairs, and that he too would oppress the barbarians 
in war to the utmost of his power : and began his 
history in this manner, at the same time reciting 
the causes for commencing the war : " That most 
defiled wretch Vologesus, may he disgracefully perish, 
began the war for such reason as this." And such; 
indeed, was his performance. 

But another, a zealous imitator of Thucydides, (an 
excellent copy, to be sure, of that great original !) made 
a commencement like him, with his own name, the 
sweetest of all exordiums, and exhaling Attic thyme: 
forlo ! " Creperius Calphurnianus, a citizen of Pemeio- 
polis, composed the war of the Parthians and Ro- 
mans, shewing how they fought with each other, and 
beginning with the first occasion of it.*" After such 
an exordium what need 1 tell you the rest, how he 
delivered an harrangue in Armenia, bringing on the 
stage the Corcyraean orator himself?t or what a 
'plague he sent upon the inhabitants of Nisibis, who 
did not espouse the cause of the Romans, taking it 
entirely from Thucydides as his own, excepting only 

* This senter.ce, excepting the proper names, is word for word 
with the first in Thucydides. 

j I. e. How he put in the mouth of an Armenian, that very 
harrangue which Thucydides has made a Corcyra?an deliver, in de- 
manding succour of the Athenians, See that great Greek Historian, 
I. 32. 



OUGHT TO BE WRITTEN. 87 

his not mentioning the Pelasgic, and the long walls, 
in which those that were sick of the plague lived at 
the time. In his history besides, the plague* broke 
out in ./Ethiopia too, and thence spread into Egypt, 
and into many of the king's territories, and it was 
well done that it stopped in these. 1 therefore de- 
parted, taking my leave of him, burying the poor 
Atheniansf at Nisibis, since I knew very well what 
Jine things he was to say, after my departure.— 
Again it is very common also r to suppose that this h 
writing like Thucydides, if v/ith a little variation, one 
speaks in his phrases, even those littlenesses— " as 
you yourself would say ;"— " not for the same reason 
indeed;" — and 6C I was near forgetting to mention.'' 
And the same writer has mentioned many kinds of 
arms and machines, in the same manner that the 
Romans name them, — a fuss, and abridge, and the 
like. And consider with me what was the dignity of 
his history, and how becoming Thucydides, having 
those Italian terms interspersed with Attic words, 
which, like a scrap of purple, add to them an orna- 
ment and grace, and agree with them altogether. 

But another certain person of them, collecting 
together in writing a mere journal of events, composed 
it in a very creeping and poor style, svu.h as any sol- 
dier, or carpenter, or sutler attending the army, might 
have made, setting down the tilings which occurred 
daily : however, this untutored fellow was indeed 
more tolerable ; it was immediately manifest what a 
wretch he was, yet he anticipated the labour for some 
other elegant person, and one skilled in the manner of 
conducting a history. This only, I blamed in him, 
that he thus entitled his books, in a style more pom- 
pous than what suited the fortune of his compositions. 
" The * * * book of the Histories of the Partialis, 
by Callimorphus, physician to the sixth legion of 
Pike-men:" and the number was subscribed to each 

* Carr misconstrues this passage. f Meaning the Romans. 

H2 



JL* 



■ 



£8 now HISTORY 

book. And, by Jove, he wrote an introduction, 
frigid beyond measure, concluding in this manner — 
that it is natural for a physician to write a history, 
since iEsculapius himself was the son of Apollo, and 
Apollo the conductor of the Muses, and the prince of 
all literature. And 1 blamed him besides^ that having 
commenced writing in the Ionic, he suddenly passed, 
with what design 1 know not, to the torn mon dialect, 
saying I3%mf 9 a,nd W^v, and oxo<rx 3 and w«i* — but 
bis other words were such as are in use with the gene- 
rality, and most of them such as are picked up in the 
high way. 

But I must make mention of a wise man too, yet 
let his name lie in obscurity ; but 1 will mention his 
design, and his books lately published at Corinth, 
surpassing all expectations : for in the beginning, di- 
rectly in the first sentence of his introduction, he ad- 
dressed his readers with an interrogation, and endea- 
voured to demonstrate this very wise proposition, 
"that it becomes the wise man alone to write a his- 
tory." Then after a few words comes another syllo- 
gism ; and in short, his whole preface was a compound 
of every kind of reasoning by questions. Here was 
adulation to an excess — intrusive praises, and manifestly 
parasitical ; nor were these, however, without syllogism, 
but they were composed of questions and deductions. 
And this too seemed intrusive to me, and by no means 
becoming a philosopher, and a hoary and long beard, 
which he said in the introduction, "our prince will have 
this great advantage, that even philosophers already 
deign to write his actions :" for such an observation, if 
indeed, there were any truth in it, he should rather 
have left to us to consider on, than mention it himself. 

Nor would it be proper to neglect mentioning him, 
who commenced with this exordium : u 1 am going 
to speak of the Romans and Persians." And a little 

* Words in the Ionic, instead of ItRffiUvy and ttvqxv 9 and onccra, 
stftd vce-oi of the common dialect. 



OUGHT TO BE WRITTEN. 89 

after, " It should have happened ill with the Persi- 
ans " And again, '" This was Osroes, whom the 
Greeks named Oxyrhoes,"* and many other things of 
this kind. You see this one resembles another, ex- 
cept that he was very like Thucydides, and this one 
like Herodotus. 

And there was another renowned for his power of 
speech, and he too like Thucydides, or a little better 
than him, who had most eloquently and energetically, 
as he thought, described all the cities, and mountains, 
and plains, and rivers: but (may the averter of evils 
turn it on the heads of our enemies,) it had in it as 
much frigidity, as is beyond the Caspian snow, and 
Gallic ice;+ for the emperor's shield was scarcely des- 
cribed by him in an entire book, with the gorgon on 
its boss, and her eyes of azure, white and black, and 
her girdle of rainbow colour, and snakes curling like 
tendrils, and twined into clusters. But, O Hercules, as 
to the trowsers of Vologesus, and the reins of his horse, 
how many myriads of heroic words each take up ! and 
what kind the hair of Osroes was, when he swam 
across the Tigris, and to what cave he fled, ivy and 
myrtles and laurels, uniting together, and shading it 
on all sides. You perceive how necessary these things 
are for history, and how little we would know without 
them, of the things done there ! 

From a weakness in the management of useful mat- 
ters, or an ignorance of what ought to be told, they 
have recourse to such descriptions of countries and 
caves; and when they fall in with transactions, nume- 
rous and great, they are like a slave suddenly enriched 
by being made the heir of his late master, who knows 

* Phrases copied from Herodotus. 

f Understand o?a to correspond with tot&vIyi. All the English 
translators have misunderstood this passage; nor is it any better in the 
French version of Massieu, which runs thus: " II croyoit avoir dit 
quelque chose de bien vehement, quand il s i etoii eerie: Puisse le dieit, 
qui preserve de tons maux, les /aire reiombcr ions sur la tete de n?s 
ennemis / — Stock's Latin translation is not wry intelligible, 

/ 1 1 



90 



HOW HISTORY 



not how his garments are to be put on, nor how to take 
his meat in a fashionable manner; but when fowl, 
and boars, and hares, are laid before him, runs head- 
long and stuffs himself so much with some hash or salt 
meat, (his old acquaintance,) that he is in danger of 
bursting. So he whom I just mentioned, likewise des- 
cribed wounds altogether improbable, and absurd 
deaths, that a person being wounded in the toe in- 
stantly expired ; and how seven -and- twenty of the 
enemy died, upon Prisons the general's merely shouting. 
Besides, in the number of the slain too, he lied, and 
that even contrary to what was written in the princes' 
letters. For he wrote that seventy thousand, and two 
hundred and thirty-six besides of the enemy, were slain 
at Europus ; but two only of the Romans, and nine 
wounded : I do not know that any person in his sound 
senses could endure such absurdities. 

But this too must be mentioned, which is not tri- 
fling: through an over zeal for Atticisms and accurate 
purity in language, he ventured thus to form the 
Roman names, and to change them into Gree^, 
saying &g<ws for Saturninus, and making Fronto 
<t>^v m itg y Titanus TJlawg, and others still more ridiculous. 
Besides, this same historian thus writes concerning the 
death of Severianus, that u all other writers are mis- 
taken, who think that he put himself to death with his 
sword, for the man certainly died with want ; for this 
kind of death seemed to him to be most easy ;" not 
reflecting that all he suffered was completed (I think) 
in three days ; but many of those who abstain from 
food, can hold out even seven days : unless one would 
suppose, that Osroes stood waiting till Severianus 
should perish with hunger, and for that very reason, 
that the other, through complaisance^ did not protract 
his life* for the entire week ! 



* I agree with Lamb. Boss, in filling up the Ellipsis here, 
against Stock, who seems not at all to have understood this passage: 
his translation is, " Kt ob id ip?uxn per septem dies aekm noa 
•Auxisset." 









% 






OUGHT TO BE WRITTEN, wd 91^ 

But in what rank, my worthy Philo, ca \te 

those who make use of poetical phrases in hisiory ? — 
"the engine made a noise, and the failing wall r 
sounded dreadfully" — and again in another book < 
this fine history — " Edissa resounded all around with 
clanging arms, and all was clamour there, anq tumult :/' 
and, " The general pondered in his breast, by what 
means he might best approach the walls. " Then in 
the midst of these, many vile, plebeian terms, and 
even such as are common with beggars, were intro- 
duced — u The leader of the camp wrote a letter to his 
master," and " the soldiers bought those provisions 
which they wanted," and " now having washed, they 
were taking care of themselves," and the like : so that 
this history was like a tragedian, who struts, having 
a high buskin on one foot, and the other bound in a 
sandal. 

You may perceive others writing splendid and 
pompous introductions, and long to an excess, (so 
that one w r ould expect to hear very wonderful things 
afterwards) but adding to it the body of the history, a 
poor and contemptible production, that even this is 
like the infant Cupid, (if by chance you have seen 
Cupid so playing,) hiding his head in the huge mask 
of Hercules or (Titan) a giant. The hearers, there- 
fore rostantly make this observation — "The moun- 
tains bring forth."* It ought not to be so, but all 
should be alike, and as it were of the same complexion, 
and the rest of the body corresponding with the head, 
so that the helmet be not of gold, and the breast-plate 
at the same time ridiculous, of rags taken from some- 
thing else, or a patch-work of rotten skins, and a 
wicker shield, and pig-skin about the legs; for you 
may see very many of such kind of writers, placing 
the head of the Rhodian Colossus on the body of a 
dwarf: others, on the other hand introducing bodies 
deprived of a head, and coming instantly to their sub- 



* M Parturiunt aicmtes^nascetur ridiculus mtfs." 









93 HOW HISTORY 

ect matter, who will have it that Xenophon is on 
their side, since he began thus — " Two sons were 
born for Darius and Parysatis;" and others of the 
ancients : they are ignorant, forsooth, that there are 
some which have the force of prefaces, though they 
escape the intellect of the vulgar, as we will show at 
another time. 

However, all these are tolerable, such as are faults 
in the diction, or.the rest of the construction: but to 
assert untruths about the very places they write oj] 
not only by parasangs, but by entire days journeys, 
what honest business is it like? One of them, in- 
deed, compiled his history so slovenly, who seems 
never to have discoursed a Syrian, nor (as the saying 
is) heard people talking of such matters in the bar- 
ber's shops, that speaking of the city Europus, he 
said thus : " But Europus is situate in Mesopotamia, 
distant two clays journey from the Euphrates : the 
people of Edissa built it." Nor was this enough for 
him; but the noble fellow in the same book, having 
hoisted up my native country, Samosata, transports 
it with its citadel and walls into Mesopotamia, so that 
it is inclosed between the two rivers, flowing very 
near it on either side, and almost washing the very 
walls. But it would be ridiculous, if, my dear Philo, 
I were now to plead before you, that 1 am not a 
Parthian, nor a native of Mesopotamia, whither this 
admirable writer has brought and planted me. 

This too, by Jove, is extremely probable, what 
that same writer asserted of Severianus, swearing at 
the same time, that he heard it from a certain person 
of those that fled from the very transaction : u that he 
was not willing to die by the sword, nor to drink poi- 
son, rior to tie a halter on his neck; but to devise some 
tragic kind of death, and strange in the attempt. 
That he had by chance glass cups of wonderful size, 
and of most beautiful glass ; but when he had entirely 
resolved to die, that he broke the largest of the cups, 
and used a piece of one of them to put himself to 



OUGHT TO BE WRITTEN. 93 

death, by Cutting his throat with the help of the glass." 
So he never thought of a dagger or javelin, that at 
least he might die a manly and heroic death. 

Then, since Thucydides delivered a funeral oration, 
as pronounced oyer those that first perished in the war, 
he thought he too should make an harrangue over 
Severianus ; (for they ail quarrel with Thucydides, 
who was innocent of all the misfortunes in Armenia.) 
Therefore, after having buried Severianus, magnifi- 
cently, he set up a certain Afranius Silo on the tomb, 
a centurion, a rival of Pericles?, who pronounced 
over him so many, and such eulogiums, that, by the 
Graces, he certainly drew from me many tears of 
laughter; and particularly when the orator Afranius, 
at the end of his discourse, weeping with a howl, the 
index of the greatest grief, makes mention of- sump- 
tuous suppers and drinking-bouts ; then put an end to 
the matter, taken from the fable of Ajax, For with a 
drawn sword, nobly indeed, and as became Afranius, 
he killed himself on the sepulchre, ih the sight of all, 
not unworthy, by Mars, to die long before, if ever 
he made such a speech. And, says the historian, 
when they that were present, saw this, they all 
admired it, and very much praised Afranius : but I 
then condemned the rest of his performance, who had 
almost made particular mention of sauces and dishes, 
and wept at the recollection of pies ; but I blamed 
him particularly on this account, that he died himself, 
without having first put to death the writer, and 
teacher of this drama. 

But though I could recount to you, my friend, 
many others like these, yet having made mention of a 
few more, I will then pass to my other promise, my 
advice how one may write better ; for there are some 
who pass by, or slightly run over great events, and 
such as are worthy to be related ; but, through a want 
of judgment and of skill in what is beautiful, and an 
ignorance of things that ought to be mentioned, and 
things that ought to be passed by in silence, tell every 



$4 HOW HISTORY 

most trifling affair very elaborately and carefully, and 
dwell long on them ; as if a person were neither to 
see nor commend all the great and manifold beauty 
of Olympian Jove, nor tell it to those who have not 
seen it ; but to admire the little footstool which is so 
perfect according to rule, and the proportion of the 
base, and to treat of them with much care. 

I have, therefore, known a person who, indeed, ran 
over the battle at Europus in scarcely seven verses, but 
spent twenty measures or more of water* on a frigkl 
narration, and that not material to us — how u a certain 
Moorish horseman, by name Mausaces, wandering over 
the mountains with thirst, fell in with some Syrian rus- 
tics, who had set a repast before themselves, and how 
they at first were terrified; but then, having discovered 
that he was a friend, received him ; for it happened 
that one of them had himself travelled into the coun- 
try of the Moors, because his brother was a soldier 
in that quarter." Then follow long fables and nar- 
rations — how a 4j£ji$ed to hunt in Mauritania," and 
how " he saw many elephants feeding together," and 
how "he was near being devoured by a lion," and 
" what large fishes he bought in Caesarea." And the 
admirable historian, having omitted many slaughters, 
which happened around Europus, and the attacks 
and necessary truces, and the guards and counter- 
guards, was absent till late in the evening, whilst he 
was looking at Malchio, the Syrian, buying immense 
scar-fishes at Csersarea, iov a. small price ; and if night 
had not come on, he would, perchance, have supped 
with him too, the scar-fishes being now ready. If 
these things had not been written in history with care, 
we would be ignorant of important matters, and the 
loss to the Romans would have been intolerable, if 
the thirsty Moor, Mausaces, had not found some- 
thing to drink, but returned to his camp supperless. 

* That is of the Clepsydra, See Notes on the Philosophers 
Revived* 

■fir rm " 



OUGHT TO BE WRITTEN. 95 

However, I now wisely pass by many other passages, 
far more ridiculous : how " a piper came to them 
from the next village," and how " they gave gifts to 
each other; the Moor, indeed, a spear to Malchio, 
but he a buckle to Mausaces ;" and many other sto- 
ries of this kind, the chief topics, forsooth, of the 
battle at Europus. One may justly remark, there- 
fore, that such writers do not see the rose, but minutely 
observe its thorns near the root. 

Another, my dear Philo, and he too exceedingly 
ridiculous, who had never set one foot out of Corinth, 
nor had gone as far as Cenchrese, nor at least Syria, 
or Armenia; commenced thus, for I remember it 
myself, u The ears are less credible than the eyes ; I 
therefore write what I have seen, not what I heard." 
And he had seen all so accurately, as to say that " the 
Parthian snakes (for this is the signal with them of 
their numbers; for, I think, one snake leads a thou- 
sand soldiers,) are live snakes of enormous size, 
which are produced in Persia, a little above Iberia. 
That these at first, indeed, were bound to long poles, 
and raised on high; and that whilst the armies charge 
from a distance, they strike terror into the foe. But 
in the battle, says he, when they join in close fight, they 
let them loose on the enemy. Many of our men, 
therefore, were devoured ; others were strangled and 
squeezed to death, the snakes having twisted them- 
selves round them. That he himself had seep this 
from a place hrrd-by, in a safe station, looking from 
! a very high tree." And he did well indeed, that he 
! had not come in close contact with these beasts, for 
otherwise so admirable a writer would be lost to us : 
who also, with his own hand, had atchieved in that 
certain great and splendid actions ; for he underwent 
many dangers, and was wounded near Sura, forsooth, 
as he was walking from the Cranium to Lerna. And 
these he read to a Corinthian audience, who perfectly 
knew that he never had seen the war even painted on 
a wall. Nor did he know any thing of arms, nor 



96 HOW HISTORY 

what kind warlike machines are, nor the names of 
companies and divisions. He, therefore, took great 
pains to call the deep Phalanx the broad one, and to 
cali leading in front, leading in wing. 

But one admirable fellow described all the trans- 
actions from beginning to end, that happened in Ar- 
menia, in Syria, in Mesopotamia ; those on the 
Tigris, and those in Media, comprizing them in 
scarcely five hundred lines ; and when he did this, he 
said he wrote a history : he, however, inscribed on it a 
title of this kind, almost larger than the book itself— 
" A narrative of those affairs which were transacted by 
the Romans in Armenia, and Mesopotamia, and 
Media, by Antiochus, the victor, in the sacred con- 
test of Apollo." (1 believe he had at some time or 
other, when a boy, conquered in the long race.) 

1 have already heard of one too, who wrote a his- 
tory of future actions, and of the captivity of Volo- 
gesus, and the death of Osroes ; how he is to be 
thrown to a lion ; and above all, of a most wished- 
for triumph to us. Thus inspired with the frenzy of 
a prophet, he has already hastened to the end. But 
besides, he has already built a city in Mesopotamia, 
" most great in magnitude, in beauty most beautiful." 
But this he is still consulting and considering on, 
whether it is proper to call it Nicaca,* or Homoncea,t 
or Irenia.J On this, indeed, he has not yet deter- 
mined, and we have this most beautiful city still 
without a name, replete with many follies and histori- 
cal snivel. He has already undertaken to write of 
the things that are hereafter to be transacted among 
the Indians,, and the circumnavigation of the outward 
sea. And this is not a promise merely; for the pre- 
face to the Indian expedition is already composed, 
and already the third legion, and the Gauls, § and a 

* Victory, f Concord. $ The City of Peace. 

§ " Tpsoru in lingua ■ Cetia, nostra Colli appellantur. " — C»sar, de 

b. c. i. i. m ' 



OUGHT TO BE WRITTEN. ST 

small body of the Moors, under the command of 
Cassius, have all passed over the river Indus. But 
this admirable writer will, before it is very long, write 
us word from Muzuris or Oxydracae, what they are to 
atchieve, or how they are to receive the shock of the 
-elephants. 

Such follies these writers are guilty of through igno- 
rance, who neither observe things worthy of observa- 
tion, nor, should they observe them, are they able to 
describe thein in a manner adequate to their dignity ; 
but inventing and feigning whatever may employ an 
impertinent tongue. They also affect a kind of res- 
pectability in the number of their books, and especially 
in their titles ; for again these are extremely ridiculous. 
"So many books of the Parthian victories, by such a 
person;" and again, u the first, second, &c. of the 
Parthis," forsooth, after the example of the Atthis.* 
Another by far more elegant, for I have read w the 
Parthonicica of Demetrius the Sagalensian." Nor 
do I mention these for this purpose, that I might turn 
into ridicule and derision such beautiful histories, 
but for utility sake; since whosoever flies these and 
such like, has already acquired a large portion of the 
knowledge necessary to write well, or rather wants 
but little more, if that precept be true, which logic 
teaches — that of two things, which have no medium, 
the removal of one is 16 establish the other, t 

And now, some one may say, you have the ground 
well cleared, and all the briars and thorns that were, 
are cut off; other rubbish removed, and all that 
was uneven is now levelled. Therefore it is now- 
necessary for you to build something yourself, that 
you may show that you can not only bravely ovek 
throw the works of others, but also to invent some- 

1 * Written by Philochorus, the Historian. 

f Life and death have no mean ; but black and white have. A dead %l 
man cannot be a living man j yet tl||£ which is black, may be some 
ether colour besides white, 

I 






158 HOW HISTORY 

thing clever, which nobody, not even Momus himself, 
can object to. n 

I say then, that he who is to write a history well, 
ought to bring these two very principal things from 
home for that purpose, political sagacity, and force of 
eloquence : the one, indeed, an unteachable gift of 
genius ; but let force of eloquence be acquired by 
much practice, continual labour, and by an imitation 
of the ancients. These, therefore, are beyond the 
reach of art, and do not want my advice : nor, indeed, 
does this book of mine promise to render such persons 
prudent and acute, who are not so by nature : if so, 
it were of great, nay of inestimable value, if it could 
reform and change such important matters, or make 
gold from lead, or silver from tin, or a Titormus of a 
Conon, or a Milo of a Leotrophides. 

But where then is the use of art and advice ? — not 
to create the qualities which ought to be present with 
a writer, but to teach the proper use of them. As, 
forsooth, even Iccus, Herodicus, Theon, or any 
ether teacher of athletic exercise, would not promise 
you to take this Perdiccas, (if he indeed be the person 
who having fallen in love with his step-mother, pined 
stway on that account, and not Anteochus, the son of 
Seleucus, who loved Stratonice to distraction,) and 
make him an Olympian victor, and one that might be 
compared with Theogines the Thasian, or Polydamas 
the Scotussaean : but this lie would promise, that he 
would render much better by the assistance of his art, 
any fit subject given him, and one born for the recep- 
tion of athletic prowess. Therefore, far be from me 
too, that invidious promise, if I say that ] have found 
out an art for so great and difficult an affair : for 1 do 
not promise this, that 1 will make historians of any 
persons taken at random ; but point out to him that is 
naturally prudent and well practiced in eloquence, 
certain direct ways, by entering which, (if indeed they 
appear such to him,) any person may sooner and 
easte*%accomplish what he ought, and arrive at what 
he aims at. 



OUGHT TO BE WRITTEN. 99 

You will not, however, assert this, that he who is 
prudent, requires no art or instruction in those things 
which he is ignorant of; if so, he might play the harp, 
and the pipes, and know every thing without an in- 
structor: but now, he can do none of these without 
instruction. But should any one show him how, he 
will easily learn, and afterwards perform well by him-' 
self. 

Therefore, let such a disciple be now given to me 
also, not slow in understanding nor in speaking ; but 
one seeing acutely, who can transact real business, if 
set over it, and have a military spirit, the prudence of 
a warlike leader, together with that of a civil officer ; 
and one, by Jove, who has been once in a camp, and 
seen soldiers exercising or drawn up in battle array, 
and has a knowledge of arms and certain warlike 
engines, what means "in wing" and what u in front ;" 
how the ranks of foot, and how the horse ought to be 
disposed, and whence they ought to sally : what it is 
to advance or*w heel about : in short, he must not be 
one who site at lionie, and merely gives credit to the 
narrations of others. 

But especially and- above all, let him be liberal in 
his sentiments, nor fear any person, nor hope for a v%y 
thing; otherwise he will be like corrupt judges, pro- 
nouncing judgment for a bribe, to gratify either favour 
or resentment. Let him not have any regard for 
Philip, deprived of his eye at Olynthus, by Aster ihe 
archer of Amphipolis ; but let him be described such as 
he is : nor let Alexander trouble him, though he write 
clearly of the murder of Clitus, cruelly committed at a 
banquet : nor let Cleon intimidate him, very powerful 
in the assembly of the people, and predominating in 
judgments, from saying that he was a destructive and 
furious man ; nor the whole city of Athens byass him, 
though he relate the slaughters in Sicily, the captivity 
of Demosthenes, and tire death of JNicias, how they suf- 
fered from thirst, what kind of water they drank, and 
how many were slain as they were drinking it. For 

1 2 



J 00 HOW HISTORY 

he will be of opinion, (which is the fact,) that he will be. 
blamed by no sensible person, if he relate those things 
that were transacted unhappily, or through bad coun- 
cil, in the manner that they happened ; for he k not 
the author of them, but the relater. Therefore, when 
his countrymen are overthrown at sea, 'tis not he that 
.sinks their ships ; and if they fly, 'tis not he that pur- 
sues them ; unless, perchance, when there was need of 
his prayers, he neglected them. ]f Thucidides could 
have corrected those misfortunes, either by passing 
them by in silence, or relating them as contrary to 
what they w r ere, it w T ere most easy for him to have 
overthrown, with one slender pen, the counter-wall 
on the Epipola?, to sink the Galley of Hermocrates, 
and transpierce that execrable Gylippus, whilst he 
was blocking up the roads with works and entrench- 
ments ; and in fine, to throw the Syracusian into the 
quarries ; but to affect this for the Athenians, that they 
might sail round Sicily and Italy, according to the 
first hopes of Alcibiades. Cut the things that are 
already done, I know, neither Clotho can wind up, 
nor Atropos retract. 

But the only business of a historian is to relate each 
transaction as it happened : but he cannot do this as 
lontr as he fears Artaxerxes, whose physician he is, or 
hopes to receive a purple robe, and a gold collar, and 
a IS'icsean steed, the reward of his praises in history. 
But Xenophon, the impartial writer, would not do 
this, nor Thucydides; but even though he privately 
hated any persons, he would deem the republic far 
more necessary to him, and set a greater value on truth 
than on resentment : and, should he love any person, 
lie will not yet spare him, being a delinquent. For, 
as I have said, this one thing is peculiar to history, 
and he that proceeds to write one, must sacrifice to 
truth alone, and the regard of all other things is to be 
disregarded. On the whole, the only rule and exact 
measure is this, not to regard those who now hear our 
works, but those who hereafter will be conversant witi} 
our writings. 



OUGHT TO BE WRITTEN. 



101 



But if any person only attend to the present time, he 
may be deservedly enrolled among the crew of Syco- 
phants, whom history, at all times from the very be- 
ginning, detests, no less than the athletic art does the 
art of decoration. They relate this memorable saying 
of Alexander — how willingly, said he, Onesicratus, 
would 1 revive, though for a short time after my death, 
for the purpose of hearing how the men at that time, 
will read these things. But now, if they praise and 
extol them, do not wonder, for they imagine that by 
this no small bait, they will severally catcli my good 
will. — Some, indeed, are now led to give credit to 
Homer, though lie wrote many things fabulously of 
Achilles, giving this great token only, as a proof of 
his veracity, that he did write about him in his life- 
time : for he cannot discover, on what account he 
told untruths. 

Such, therefore, let my historian be. void of fear, 
incorruptible, liberal, a friend to freedom of speech 
and truth, who, as the comic poet says, calls figs, 
figs; and a boat, a boat:* not distributing either 
hatred or friendship to any person, not sparing, nor 
moved with pity, or shame, or bashfulness ; an impar- 
tial judge \ benevolent to all so far, as not to give to 
any one more than his due; a stranger in his books ; 
a person of no state; independent; subject to no 
king; not considering what the sentiments of this per- 
son or that person are, but relating what actually hap- 
pened. 

Thucydides, therefore, justly enacted this law, and 
distinguished the virtue and vice of the historian, when 
he saw Herodotug much admired, that his books were 
called by the names of the Muses. He says he writes, 
" a perpetual possession, rather than a ludicrous con- 



* Or, as the French say " Qu'il appelle un chat un chat." Com- 
mentators attribute this phrase to Aristophanes; but Reitzius has ia 
vain sought for it in ail the works that are extant imder that uoetV 
Eame. 

is 



102 



HOW HISTORY 



tention that will only please at the present time," and 
that " the fabulous is not approved of by him, but 
that lie leaves to posterity the truth 



concerning events, 
vhatever he that is wise 
would set down as the end of history: "that," says 
he, " if ever again similar things should happen, they 
may have it in their power to make good use of the 
present, by looking back to those things which were 
anciently written. 

X^et the historian be given to me who, indeed, has 
such a mind ; but as to language and the power of 
eloquence, let him not be very violent in that vehe- 
ment and rugged style, with continual periods, and 
uninterrupted argumentations, and in the other orato- 
rial powers ; but commence writing with a tranquil 
mind. Let his sentiments be regular and concise, 
and his diction perspicuous and polite, and such as 
clearly to express his subject matter. 

For as we proposed freedom of speech and truth as 
the bounds for the writer's mind, so for his language 
one principal object to explain his subject with perspi- 
cuity, and tell it clearly; setting aside all unknown and 
obsolete terms, nor yet adopting those in use with the 
mob, and in taverns, but such as the common people 
may understand, and the learned praise. But let his 
language be also adorned with figures that are easy 
and not far-fetched ; for these render an author's style 
like well made soup. 

Let the mind of the historian, besides, partake of 
and adopt some portion of poetry, in as much as that 
too makes use of sublime words, and is elevated, and 
particularly when it is engaged with drawn out armies, 
and battles, and sea-fights: for then he will have 
occasion for a certain poetical gale, to fill his sails with 
a prosperous breeze, and waft his lofty bark over the 
surface of the waves. His diction, however, may 
move on the ground, though elated with the beauty 
and grandeur of his subject, and equalled thereto as 
vmch as possible; but not ; in the mean time ; running 



OUGHT TO BE WRITTEN. 103 

into wildness, nor borne with a certain enthusiastic 
spirit beyond what is proper: for then the greatest 
danger is, lest he be driven beyond bounds, and fall 
into downright poetical frenzy; therefore, the reins 
must be particularly attended to then, and sobriety 
must be observed, considering this, that in oratory 
too an immoderate spirit in words is no small evil. 
'Tis best then, that diction on foot should attend the 
imagination, mounted on a steed, holding the saddle, 
that she may not be left behind from the rapidity of 
the course. 

But you ought to use a moderate composition of 
your words, and free from extremes, so that you do 
not remove and separate them too much, (for that is 
harsh,) nor end them almost metrically, like many 
writers, of which this, indeed, is faulty, and that 
disagreeable to the hearers. 

The subjects themselves should not be connected 
at random, but* the historian ought to combine them 
elaborately, and with a certain painful diligence, 
having often weighed them well in his mind : and in 
particular he ought to relate what he has been present 
at, and seen ; but if not, he should give credit to 
those who tell them most faithfully, and whom one 
would consider least to extenuate or exaggerate ihe 
events in any measure through interest or hatred. 
And here he must be acute in his conjectures, and 
one that is able to elicit what is most probable. 

And when he shall have collected all his materials, 
or the most part of them, let him first, indeed, draw 
up some sort of sketch of them, and form the body of 
the work, as yet unadorned, and not distinguished 
into its several numbers. Then having put it into 
order, let him bestow beauty on it, and add colouring 
to the diction, and suit the language to the subject, 
and study a correct composition. 

And on the whole, let him then resemble Homer's 

• Understand hi av\ov 9 



104 HOW HISTORY 

Jupiter,* one time looking down upon the land of 
the horse-feeding Thracians, and another time upon 
that of the Mysians. In like manner let the historian 
also one time take a view of the several affairs of the 
Romans, and relate them such as they appeared to 
him, observing them from on high; and another time 
those of the Persians ; then of both, if they are in 
war with each other. And in the very field of battle, 
let him not direct his attention to one side only, nor to 
one horseman, or one footman, unless, perchance, 
some Brasidas leap forward, or a Demosthenes pre- 
vent the landing of the enemy. t He must first, in- 
deed, attend to the generals ; and if they give any 
orders, let him hear them also ; and how, and with 
what intent and design, they enjoined them. But when 
they come into action, let his observation be common 
to both, and as it were, weigh the transactions in a 
pair of scales, and pursue with those pursuing, and 
fly with those flying. 

And in all these, proper bounds are to be observed, 
that he do not relate matters to satiety, or unskilfully, 
or in a juvenile manner ; but acquit himself with ease, 
and, having settled these affairs in some certain pos- 
ture, let him pass to those subjects that demand his 
attention : then, acquitted of this charge, let him re- 
turn to where the former call him, and hasten to all, 
and be as much as possible in concord with the occa- 
sion ; and let him fly from Armenia into Media, 
thence with one dart to Iberia, thence into Italy, so 
as not to be left behind by any lapse of time. 

But, in particular, let him have his mind like a mir- 
ror, clear and bright, and exact in the centre ; and 
such as it shall receive the images of facts, in the same 
manner let it also reflect them, but show nothing 
distorted, of different colour or different shape* For 

* Homer, Ilias XIII. 4. 

f See Thucidides, Book, IV. and Hist, And de Rollin, TcUb 
III. p, 586. 



OUGHT TO BE WRITTEN. 103 

historians do not write for teachers of oratory ; but 
they are in possession of what they are to relate, and 
all must be told, for it is already done : but it is ne- 
cessary to put it into order and relate it : therefore 
they have not to seek what they are to say, but how 
they ought to say it. On the whole, we must consider 
that a writer of history ought to be like Phidias, 
Praxitiles, or Alcamenes, or any other person of 
their profession: for they did not make the gold, or 
silver, or ivory, or other materials ; but these were at 
hand and ready prepared for them, the Eleans, or 
Athenians, or Argives, having supplied them ; but 
they only shaped them, and cut and polished the 
ivory, and joined it together, and gave it beauty and 
proportion, and as it were, flowered it with gold : 
and it was their peculiar art to dispose of the materials, 
as occasion required. Such too is the business of the 
historian, to arrange events with beauty, and to des- 
cribe them as clearly as possible : and when he that 
hekrs them, thinks afterwards that he has seen the 
things related, and consequently praises the perfor- 
mance, then, then indeed, it is accurately executed, 
and has acquired deserved applause for our historical 
Phidias. 

All his materials being now prepared r he will some~ 
times commence without introduction, when the sub- 
ject itself does not much require any thing to be pro- 
mised in a preface ; and even then, indeed, he will 
effect all the force of an introduction, because he de- 
clares the subjects that are to be related. 

But when he writes a preface, he will begin with 
two topics only, not like orators with three, but omit- 
ting that of bespeaking the reader's good will, he wilt 
seek their attention and comprehension. They will 
attend, if he show them that he is about speaking of 
great, necessary, domestic, or useful subjects ; and 
he will make them understand, and the things that 
follow clear, by explaining the causes of the events 
first, and marking out the chief of the transactions. 



106 HOW HISTORY 

Such introductions the best historians have made 
use of. Herodotus, indeed, begins thus, telling us 
he writes^ " that the events might not vanish with time, 
since they were great and wonderful, and displayed 
the victories of the Greeks, and the slaughters of the 
Barbarians." But Thucydides, " because he himself 
considered that that war would be great, and more 
worthy of being recorded, and greater than former 
wars : for in it also, great calamities had happened." 

But it is a great matter, that the introduction, in 
proportion to the subjects, should he longer or short- 
er. But let the transition thence to the narrative, be 
natural and easy : for in truth all the remaining body 
of the history is a long narration ; wherefore let it be 
ornamented with the beauties of narration, and pro- 
ceed with a smooth and regular pace, and even con- 
sistent with itself, so that no part should surpass or 
fall short of the rest. Then let perspecuity prevail in 
the diction, which depends, as I have said, on the 
co::::ec^g uf one thj-g with aaribin&. For {has he 
will make all parts compleat and perfect; and having 
finished die first, he will subjoin the second annexed 
to it, and united like the links of a chain, so as to 
admit of no interruption, nor many stories bundled 
together at random ; but so that the first part is always 
not only next to the second, but the second growing 
out of it, and both united in their contingent ex- 
tremes. 

Brevity and dispatch are useful in all the parts r 
particularly if there be no scarcity of materials : and 
these are not so much to be obtained by a brevity in 
words and expressions, as from the subjects themselves : 
I mean this, if you lightly run over trifling and less 
important incidents, and say a sufficiency on matters 
of moment ; or rather many things are to be omitted. 
For supposing you were to give an entertainment to 
your friends, all tilings being prepared, you would 
not (I suppose) on that account serve up also, a sprat, 
and pulse, and the like, if ready, in the midst of 



OUGHT TO BE 'WRITTEN. 107 

sweet-meats, and fowl, and so many dishes, and 
boars, and hares, and sweeUbreads ; but you would 
omit he meaner articles. 

But, in particular, you must conduct yourself dis- 
creetly in the description of mountains, fortifications, 
or rivers, lest you should seem unskilfully and fool- 
ishly to show your power of eloquence, and, having 
neglected your history, to be managing your own 
business ; but when you have lightly touched on these 
matters for utility and perspecuity sake, pass on, 
avoiding their bird-lime and all their delights. You 
see how, in a similar manner the magnanimous Homer 
acts : though a poet, he slightly passes by Tantalus, 
and Ixion, and Tityus, and the rest. But if Par- 
thenius,* or Euphorion,* or Callimachus,t had 
mentioned them, in how many verses, do you sup- 
pose, would one of them bring the water to the lip of 
Tantalus? In how many would he roll round Ixion's 
wheel ? But you see how rather Thucydides himself, 
using this kind of writing sparingly, desists immedi- 
ately, when he has described any warlike machine, or 
has explained the manner of a siege, though necessary 
and useful, or the form of Ephipolae, or the harbour 
of Syracuse. For when he describes the plague, and 
seems tedious, do you but consider the matter; for 
thus you will perceive his dispatch, and how the 
multiplicity of facts retard him, however, in his flight. 

But if at any time too, there is occasion to intro- 
duce any person speaking, in particular, let language 
adequate to the character, and suit-able to the subject, 
be pronounced, and then let it be as clear as possible. 
Besides you are permitted then to display your oratory 
and show your power of eloquence. 

Let your praise and censure be altogether moder- 
ate, circumspect, and free from malice, accompanied 

* Two Authors much esteemed by the Emperor Tiberius. See 
Sueton. Tib. 70. 

f Not the poet certainly, to whom is attributed the saying, "a great 
book is a great evil, yf and of whose works several poems, and fragments 
•f poems, are now extant. 



108 HOW HISTORY 

with proofs, concise, and not unseasonable. Other- 
wise, they are without the tribunal ;* and you will 
be guilty oF the same fault as Theopompus,+ who, 
through a certain fondness for enmity, has censured 
almost every body, and continued so long in that 
practice, that he had rather accuse, than relate events. 

And if any fabulous story cross you in your way, it is 
indeed to be mentioned, not, however, to be altogether 
credited, but left undetermined, that every reader as 
he thinks proper, may judge of it. But you are there- 
by safe, and inclined to neither side. 

Above all things, remember this, (I will often incul- 
cate it,) write not with your mind directed to the 
present only, that persons now Tiving, may applaud 
you, and hold you in esteem, but aiming at the me- 
mory of every age, write rather for those who will be 
hereafter, and from them seek the rewards of your 
writing, that it may also be said of you, " He was/ 
however, a liberal man, and full of freedom of speech r 
there is nothing of the sycophant, nor of the slavet 
but downright truth in all his works." This, if | 
man were wise, he would esteem above all the hopes c 
life, which are of such short duration. 

Do you see what that architect of Cnidus did t 
For when he had built the tower in the island of 
Pharos, the greatest and most beautiFul oF all his 
works, that thence a signal, by lighting a fire, might 
be given to mariner's Far at sea, that they should not 
be dashed on the Paraetonia, being very dangerous, as 
they say, and whence there is no escaping, iF any 
vessel should get on that rocky shore. Having there- 
Fore built his work, he inscribed his name within on 
the stones themselves : but when he had covered them 
over with plaister, he inscribed thereon, the name 
oF the king then reigning, knowing, what indeed 

* See note in Stock. 

f A very malicious writer, according to Com, Nepo~s ; in the life 
of Alcibiades. 






*H 



OtGHT TO BE WRITtEtf. 1(39 



happened, that after 4 a short time it would come to 
pass, that these letters would fall off with the plaister* 
but this inscription appear, " SOSTRATUS, OF 
CNIDUS, THE SON DEXIPHANES, TO 
THE GUARDIAN DEITIES, FOR THOSE 
IN DANGER AT SEA." So neither did he look 
to the then present time, nor- to his own life, being 
very short ; but to the time now, and every other future 
age, as long as the tower shall stand, and his owi$ 
art remain. 

History ou gfa jtherefcre, 'fo b e written in this manner 
too, with truuS^ richer to^uture hope, than with 
flattery to obtain gratification from present praise. 
L*et this be the rul$ and standard for you, of trus 
history ; by which, if any persons suffer themselves to 
oe directed, they would act well, and I shall have 
written to good purpose : but if not ; my tub has been 
oiled in the Cranium.* 

•I.e. I have as much laboured id no purpose^ as Diogenes die!* 
filing his tub in the Cranium. —See the third paragraph of Ihis 
treatise. 



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